


Dark Seduction

by crochetaway



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Smut, Time Travel, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 72,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crochetaway/pseuds/crochetaway
Summary: As Tom Riddle is hunting for the diadem in Albania, he stumbles across a strange artifact he's never seen before. Hermione Granger is a lowly Ministry employee on vacation in the mountains of Albania. She's found the perfect cabin for a week of relaxing, hiking and reading. Until a stranger shows up in her living room. Wearing a time-turner. Complete!





	1. Albania

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [AYearwithTomRiddle](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/AYearwithTomRiddle) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> _Tom Riddle gets stuck in the future (there are not enough of these out there.)_
> 
> _As Tom is hunting for the diadem in Albania, he stumbles across a strange artifact he's never seen before. It's a long chain with a pendant. Inside the pendant were three concentric circles, and at the center an hourglass. Tom idly spins the circles and finds himself in another time._
> 
> _Hermione Granger is a lowly Ministry employee on vacation in the mountains of Albania. She's found the perfect cabin for a week of relaxing, hiking and reading. Until a stranger shows up in her living room. Wearing a time-turner. The only time-turner in existence._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Welcome to my newest Tomione! I've been writing this for months, uploading it to the A Year With Tom Riddle Fest on AO3. It just went live, and I have 4 more chapters to write in this story and it'll be done. I won't be posting any additional chapters on AO3 until I'm finished crossposting it here and on Wattpad. I'll be cross-posting every Tuesday until I'm finished. The story will be 18 chapters long.**
> 
> **Please heed the following warnings: smut, so much freaking smut, sex rituals, violence, death, Horcruxes, dark!Hermione, dark!Tom, and major character death are all depicted in this story. If this isn't your cup of tea, please go ahead and turn back now. This will be the only warning you get.**
> 
> **I would be entirely remiss if I didn't thank my alpha brownlark42 and my beta RachaelLA26 for their hard work over the last few months. So many thanks to them!**
> 
> **If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! I make a new mood board for each chapter of this story, find them on my Tumblr crochetawayhpff, my facebook Shan Crochetaway, or on the AO3 story!**
> 
> **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

__

* * *

 

_August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Boredom. It was a state that Hermione Granger wasn’t sure she’d ever contemplated as much as she had in the last week. Currently, she was lounging on the only chair on the front porch of a very remote cabin in the Albanian mountains. It was a gorgeous August afternoon, with the sun shining through the forest of pines that surrounded the cabin. A dust mote caught her eye and she watched as it traveled through the air currents, her fingers trailing across the skin of her thigh in a mesmerizing pattern. The chair wasn’t very comfortable—a homemade wooden sort—and there weren’t any cushions for it. She’d probably have been more comfortable if she sat in the chair properly, instead of sitting with her back to one arm and her legs draped over the other. But there wasn’t anyone around to see her, so Hermione decided she could sit however she liked.

When Hermione was younger, she’d thought it was silly to be bored. There was always something new to read, something new to learn. She felt as if she’d lived her life at a breakneck pace for years. Until the end of the war really. And now? Now Hermione found herself bored quite often. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for a life _not_ lived on the edge? During the war, all she wanted was the war to be over. For her friends to be safe. To live a normal life.

Normal life was boring. Hermione had a job in her dream department in the Ministry and she estimated she put about sixty percent effort into the job on any given day. At Hogwarts, Hermione had almost killed herself to make the best grades, to learn and know everything, to keep Harry and Ron from death or expulsion. As an adult, she was rapidly coming to terms with the fact that she just didn’t care. She couldn’t care.

She wondered idly if this was depression or just plain old apathy. If she’d spoken with her mother, she knew that Helen Granger would advise her to get laid. An odd thing coming from one’s mother, but Hermione was used to Helen’s bluntness. And to her ideas about what made life bearable. Good sex was a requirement in Helen Granger’s world and thus, had passed that requirement on to Hermione.

Half the reason Hermione found herself on vacation, alone, in the Albanian mountains was because of the lack of good sex in her life. Had she truly been attempting to mend that rather large hole, she would have vacationed in Paris or Rome or somewhere—anywhere—with a night-life. Instead, she was punishing herself. She’d realized it the moment she’d taken the key from the old Muggle man she’d rented the cabin from.

It took her three days to figure out _why_ she was punishing herself and it all boiled down to one word. One person, really. Ron. Ron was _not_ good in bed. So, Hermione had taken the advice of Helen Granger and dumped him. Breaking his heart in the process. Even though that had been over a year ago, Hermione still felt guilty about it. She could still see the hurt and pain on his face as she told him it was over, that she was done. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Unless you count the being bad in bed thing and was that really Ron’s fault? Or were they just not sexually compatible?

If she were honest with herself, Ron wasn’t the _only_ reason she was punishing herself. Or, rather, dumping Ron wasn’t the only reason. It was also the look on Ron’s face everytime Hermione was photographed with a different date for the _Daily Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_. It was for the disappointment in his inability to continue being friends with her. Before they’d even begun dating after the final battle, Hermione had asked him if things went sour if he thought they could still be friends. He’d promised her. Swore up and down that she would always be his friend.

Until she wasn’t.

So, Hermione found herself in a remote cabin punishing herself for her transgressions against Ron. Despite the fact that Ron had his own transgressions against Hermione. After their breakup, he’d gone back to Lavender Brown, an attempt to make Hermione jealous as she’d been in their sixth year.

But, Hermione knew how bad Ron was in bed now and wasn’t jealous. She was sad. Sad that their relationship had dissolved after the breakup. Sad that Ron thought that he could win her back, even after she said never again.  Sad for Lavender. Sad that Ron was essentially using Lavender in the hope that Hermione would want him again. When that relationship hadn’t lasted long, Ron moved on to someone else. All with the hope, the wish, that whoever it was would be the person to make Hermione jealous enough to want him again. Hermione knew that ship had sailed. She wouldn’t ever want Ron again. And until Ron got over that they couldn’t be friends.

Hermione sighed and stood from her chair. The sun was beginning to slowly sink behind the mountains and, instead of making herself dinner, Hermione decided to open a bottle of wine.

It wasn’t her habit to drink as much as she had in the last week, but vacation was for drinking. Another of Helen Granger’s maxims. One that Hermione hadn’t truly lived until this boring trip. Thankfully, she’d brought plenty of wine along with her and she smiled as she opened a new bottle. A French pinot noir, one of her favorites. Hermione had used to like light and fruity wines, but now she much preferred wines that tasted like dirt. The dirtier the better. She took a deep breath as she poured the fragrant red into her glass, swirling it around to release all the fragrance notes.

Setting her glass down to allow the wine to breathe, Hermione crossed the room to the one bookcase in the entire cabin. She’d brought a small library of books with her and had unpacked them immediately. Books needed to breathe as much as wine did. Trailing her fingers along the spines she tried to find one that would pique her interest but came up empty. She wished she had packed that romance novel her mother had slipped into her latest package. Another of Helen Granger’s vices, romance novels. The smuttier the better. Hermione didn’t usually care for them: but right now she felt like she could use something to keep her attention, even if it was a trashy romance novel.

Sighing, Hermione ended up grabbing the only novel she brought with her; _The Brothers Karamazov_ . The sun set quickly this high in the mountains and by the time she turned around to retrieve her wine it was dark beyond her windows. The wind kicked up, howling around the corners of her cabin and Hermione shivered. Seriously, why had she chosen _Albania_ of all places?

Hermione pulled her wand from the holster on her arm and secured the windows and doors of the cabin with a quick flick, adding a few wards as well as a Muggle-Repelling Charm. She wasn’t scared to be on her own in the wilderness, but something about this cabin had creeped her out since day one. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it and compensated by using her magic to ensure her safety. She felt a little bad, knowing it was a Muggle cabin, but so far had not heard from the Albanian Ministry about it. Which made Hermione think that the Albanian Ministry didn’t care as long as no Muggles were around to see it.

When Hermione had arrived at the cabin she’d cast several cleaning charms on the whole thing. It was practically rundown though also cheap, which fit Hermione’s budget. The sofa itself had let up such a cloud of dust when she’d cast a Scourgify at it that she’d done it three more times. It was an old chesterfield and sagged something terrible in the middle. But Hermione found she quite liked the faded green plaid of the thing. And it was surprisingly comfortable. Far more comfortable than the bed.

Picking up her wine and book, Hermione laid down on the sofa and tried to lose herself in the pages of nineteenth-century Russia.

She wasn’t entirely successful.

It wasn’t long before Hermione found herself with the thick tome down on her chest as she traced the boards in the ceiling above her. Half the reason she’d had such a hard time concentrating on anything was because of her job. She should love it, it was exactly what she’d set out to do. Well, it was at least in the department she wanted to be in. Ever since her days of researching laws to save Buckbeak and knitting hats for house-elves, Hermione had known she wanted to work in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. But now that she was finally there? Not only was it dreadfully boring, but she was treated as little more than an assistant. Typing things for her boss and fetching tea. It was downright humiliating some days. Hermione told herself over and over again that she just had to work her way up, but she’d been there for almost three years. If they were going to promote her, they would have done it by now.

She had hoped she could use this vacation as a way to try and figure out what she really wanted in life. Did she want to be stuck as a Ministry drone for the rest of her career? More and more she was beginning to think that could not be the answer for her. If it was, she feared she would waste away, mentally. Already her mind felt atrophied from disuse. Look at this vacation. She’d had two whole weeks to herself to research and read whatever she wanted and she couldn’t organize her mind enough to focus on anything. Not even fiction!

Hermione finished her glass of wine and stood to pour herself another. She grabbed the bottle and set it on the coffee table. How had her life come to this point? Being bored on vacation seemed like a problem she shouldn’t have. And yet here she was. Instead of lying back down, Hermione sat on the sofa proper and filled her wine glass, thinking over her career options. Obviously, her job at the Ministry was going nowhere. Would it be better to try a different department? Should she attempt to use a little political influence to secure herself a better job? It felt entirely too scummy to do such a thing, but she was at a loss. Perhaps she should give up the Ministry career entirely and see what else was out there. Surely, someone would want to hire her right?

The last thing Hermione remembered before passing out that night was finishing the bottle of wine and stripping to her shirt and knickers to sleep on the sofa.

* * *

_August 1949_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Tom Riddle blasted another tree apart. Another tree another dead end. Why in the hell had Helena Ravenclaw picked Albania of all places to hide her mother’s diadem? He’d assumed that it would have been easy to find. He’d tried every magic detection charm he knew and he was still unable to find the blasted thing. He’d followed her directions to the letter, but obviously, something must have happened in the eight centuries since she’d hidden the diadem. The worst part was that Tom knew he had to find it in order to continue on with his plans. He couldn’t allow his goals to be interrupted this early in the game. Two Horcruxes just wasn’t enough. Seven was a very magically powerful number and seven soul pieces split apart would make him unstoppable. He knew it was maybe a little foolish to hide his soul in relics from the Founders of Hogwarts, but when the idea had come to him, he found that it appealed so strongly to him that he couldn’t let go of it. Besides, if he chose something mundane, what did that signify about his soul? Tom was anything but mundane.

He continued blasting trees as he made his way through the thick pine forest. He had almost run out of areas to search. There was still the other side of the mountain, but that side was practically uninhabitable, and so he decided to save it for last. The worst part about Albania was the boredom. Tom didn’t really think of himself as someone who could or ever would be bored, but nothing changed in the forest. It was all the same, every day, and it was beginning to drive Tom a little mad. Trudging back to the tiny cabin he’d rented from an old Muggle, Tom considered his options. He wouldn’t leave without the diadem, but he needed a new way of searching for it. How does a person go about finding something that doesn’t want to be found?

Perhaps that was a clue. Perhaps Helena Ravenclaw had put some sort of additional enchantment on the diadem making it hard to find. Tom would have to think about it to see if there was a way to find it despite any sort of hiding enchantment. He was glad he’d brought his personal library with him. While he’d read most of the books in it, he knew there would be something of worth. Especially since he’d commandeered half of Abraxas Malfoy’s library as well. If Tom didn’t have anything regarding hiding enchantments, he was sure Abraxas’ would.

A month stuck in an Albanian forest was enough to drive anyone a bit mad, which made Tom thankful for the Never-Empty flask of Firewhisky Thoros Nott had gifted him. It was a new invention and Tom found it aided him quite well in his need to get drunk each and every night if only to drown out the everlasting boredom of being trapped in a cabin in the woods.

Tom snorted when he came across said cabin. It was more like a shack. There was one tiny bedroom, a great room that encompassed both the living area and kitchen and an even tinier bathroom. That was one thing Tom had been thankful for was modern plumbing. There were even some places in wizarding Britain that hadn’t updated to modern plumbing. Insanity. If the filthy fucking Muggles could do it, the wizards ought to be able to at least match them. Yet another reason that Tom knew _he_ would be best suited to rule the wizarding world. He’d begun gathering followers when he was at Hogwarts, but he wasn’t ready to return to Britain yet. He needed to make a few more Horcruxes. And he wanted to travel the world, learn some new magic. Some different magic. But in order to make that happen, he would need funds. This trip was mostly self-funded by his job at Borgin and Burkes. The next time he went abroad, he planned to take Abraxas and Thoros with him. Perhaps Edgar Lestrange as well. Edgar was older than Tom, but he’d followed Abraxas Malfoy around like a puppy when they’d been at Hogwarts. He could prove to be useful.

Tom collapsed onto the small green plaid chesterfield sofa in the middle of the great room. He was exhausted from stomping through the woods all day looking for that blasted diadem. The last thing he wanted to do was make himself dinner. Resolved, he Summoned the Never-Empty flask from its place on the mantle and took a healthy sip. Perhaps if he got drunk enough he’d forget that he was alone in the middle of the woods.

He was halfway to his goal when he had to urinate. Standing unsteadily, Tom lurched toward the tiny bathroom. Thankful once more for modern plumbing he relieved himself, groaning loudly as his full bladder emptied. The pipes groaned beneath the shack as he flushed the toilet and turned on the tap to wash his hands. He looked in the tin mirror above the sink and decided he looked like shit. It didn’t matter, there wasn’t anyone around to look at him anyway.

On the way back to the couch he stumbled against the small table and hit his head hard on the wall.

“Fucking shit,” Tom muttered rubbing his head. A board in the wall had come loose and was hanging open. Tom blinked at it. It seemed to be a hidden compartment, he lifted the board entirely and discovered not only was it on hinges there was something hidden inside. A golden necklace, a long chain and at the end of it was a pendant. A rather large one. It had three concentric rings and in the middle of it all was an hourglass. Tom had never seen anything like it. He almost chalked it up to Muggle jewelry when he realized there were runes written on each of the rings. His mind was too drunk, too unfocused to make much sense of them, but Tom thought that maybe, just maybe his luck was turning around. He’d have to take a closer look at the necklace in the morning. He clutched the necklace tightly in his hand as he made his way back to the couch. He collapsed on it, finally passing out with the necklace still clutched in his hand.

Unbeknownst to Tom, his fingers twitched and moved in his sleep, causing the rings on the necklace to begin rotating.


	2. Time

__

* * *

 

_August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Hermione woke up lying on the same sofa she’d fallen asleep on. It was getting warm and sticky in the cabin as the sun began to rise. Hermione licked her lips, her mouth was dry and she felt parched. She hated the way her mouth tasted after a night of drinking herself into oblivion. She considered summoning a glass of water but decided against it when she realized that her wand wasn’t in her hand or on the small coffee table in front of her.

She sighed, another long day of Albanian summer to get through. Perhaps she’d sleep a while longer. It was her vacation after all. Hermione drifted lazily in and out of sleep as she watched the patterns the sun made on the worn wooden floors of the cabin. The flimsy, lace curtains covering the windows were probably white at one point but had turned a dull sort of yellow-brown with age. Hermione had considered taking them off entirely, but the sun made interesting patterns as it shone through the lace and was glad she’d kept them.

The glare of the sun was suddenly in her eyes and Hermione groaned and rolled over to face the back of the sofa. Perhaps a bit more sleep was called for.

* * *

_THUMP._

Hermione snorted awake with a start. What was that? She turned over slowly and blearily opened her eyes. Then promptly screamed.

“Holy fuck, shut up,” a man’s deep voice complained and Hermione’s scream cut off. Her head was aching even worse now and her throat hurt from the effort.

The man was on his arse on the floor, his hands propped up behind him and he looked as bad as Hermione felt. He was clutching something in one hand and looked as if he’d slept in his clothes. She studied him for a moment, there was something about him that looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. He had dark wavy hair that was disheveled and his eyes were currently shut, so she couldn’t see what color they were. His skin, though, was pale; flawless as if he’d never spent any time in the sun. And he’d had a British accent when he’d spoken. It was half of what scared her. Who was he? Had he tracked her here? She worried suddenly about where her wand was. She thought that maybe it was in her jeans?

She shook her head and looked at her arm where she usually wore her wand holster. It was bare. She must have taken the wand holster off at some point last night. But when? And where would she have put it?

“Who the fuck are you?” a cultured, smooth British voice asked her, interrupting her thoughts. She focused back on the man who had appeared in her cabin.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Hermione replied hoarsely. She coughed, trying to clear her throat. Merlin, she needed a hangover potion.

“Why are you in my cabin? How did you get in here?” he asked. He was still sprawled on the floor and had opened his eyes to slits. Hermione still couldn’t quite make out their color. He lifted on hand above his head to shield his eyes from the sun that was streaming in from the window.

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded. “Same to you buddy.” She sat up slowly, trying to think about how he could have gotten here. That’s when she realized that what he was clutching in his hand wasn’t an ordinary necklace as she had thought. The sun had glinted off the glass of the hourglass, catching Hermione’s eye.

“Where did you get that?” she asked as casually as she could, pointing at what was clearly a Time-Turner.

The man pulled his arm in, shifting himself so he was fully sitting and clutched at the Time-Turner.

“It’s mine,” he said jealousy, holding the Time-Turner tightly, unwilling to let her see it.

That at least cleared up how he’d gotten through her wards and into her cabin. She cast her gaze over his clothes, trying to determine what year he was from, but he wore a pretty standard set of trousers and a white button up shirt that had been unbuttoned at the collar and the sleeves. The sleeves had been pushed up, showing his lithe forearms. Hermione shook her head. She knew she was undersexed, but it was ridiculous to begin noticing such things on the stranger who had traveled in time. And judging by the way he hoarded the Time-Turner, he wasn’t going to be giving her much information it seemed.

She cocked her head as she studied him. He didn’t seem to realize that he _had_ traveled in time. Especially with the sorts of questions he was asking.

“What?” the man finally asked. Clearly fed up with the way Hermione was staring at him. She narrowed her eyes, he looked hungover. She could assume he was a wizard, as she didn’t think the Time-Turner would work for a Muggle. Or at least, she didn’t think it would work for only a Muggle. Perhaps if a wizard was controlling the Time-Turner, then a Muggle could also travel with one. Kind of like how she and Harry had used the same Time-Turner back in their third year.

“What year is it?” Hermione finally asked him. That would at least establish how far back he had come. Perhaps it was only a year or two. Although, it still didn’t explain _why_ he had a Time-Turner. She had been told they had all been destroyed during her fifth year in the Department of Mysteries debacle. Was someone, even now, working on recreating Time-Turners?

“1949,” the man answered suspiciously.

Hermione gaped at him for a moment before she threw her head back and began to laugh. Laughing hurt the pounding in her head and didn’t feel much better on her throat, but it was the only reaction she felt she could have.

She knew exactly who sat on the dingy floor of her cabin in the Albanian mountains. And she wondered what it meant that he’d found the Time-Turner. Had he now cast them onto a different timeline? Or had this always happened?

She shook her head, it couldn’t always have happened unless she immediately sent him back. And if she did, wouldn’t he have recognized her when he became Voldemort? Time travel was very confusing because she didn’t know the answer to any of those questions.

But one question was answered, in 1949 all of the Time-Turners hadn’t been destroyed. She just lamented the fact that she was going to have to convince Voldemort to return to his own time.

* * *

  _August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Tom stared suspiciously at the woman in front of him who was still laughing. She’d laughed so hard that tears had rolled down her cheeks and she’d begun coughing. She wasn’t very pretty, rather plain in fact, although her hair was interesting in the way it stuck out everywhere. More intriguing though was the fact that she was only wearing a t-shirt and knickers. The sun streamed in the room from behind her, outlining her figure beneath the overly large t-shirt. Try as he might, Tom still felt himself reacting.

Her whisky-colored eyes opened once more as she finally got her breath back. He waited, assuming she was going to explain why she was laughing. Or maybe how she got into his cabin to begin with. He looked down at the golden necklace in his hands. Perhaps this had something to do with it. The woman at least seemed to recognize what it was.

“Salazar’s Rod,” Tom complained when she broke off into another peal of laughter. “My fucking head hurts, witch. Do cease your donkey braying.”

Unfortunately, that only made her laugh harder and Tom hung his head in his hands. Shifting so that his back was pressed against the wall for support. He rubbed his gritty eyes and wished that he hadn’t drank as much as he did. Perhaps this was all just a hallucination from too much Firewhisky.

“Sorry,” the woman finally seemed to be able to control her laughter.

Tom looked up when he heard a whoosh and found a Potions bottle settling on the floor next to him. A glance at the woman showed she had one just like it and she downed it quickly, seeming to relax as whatever the Potion was, took effect. Tom returned his gaze to the bottle.

“It’s Hangover Relief,” the woman said. “I know they don’t have it in 1949, but they do now. Drink it. You’ll feel better.”

Tom was skeptical, but the pounding in his head had become a dull roar. He’d do almost anything for relief and decided that if this was just a hallucination then drinking the potion at least wouldn’t kill him.

He grabbed the bottle and inspected the light blue potion. It looked harmless enough and so he uncapped it and took a sniff. It smelled of peppermint and vervain. He gulped it down and was shocked at the relief that soon flooded his body. His head no longer ached and his stomach settled. He swallowed and licked his lips, even his breath felt fresher.

“I modified the original to add in the breath freshening aspect,” the woman commented.

“Who are you?” Tom asked. It was obvious she was a witch and apparently one skilled in potions, judging by the way he felt now.

The witch shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and Tom caught a vision of the outline of her breast before she settled and the shirt obscured everything once more. He struggled to control himself, it had been a while since he’d indulged. Being stuck in a remote cabin for a month didn’t much lead itself to sexual fantasies.

“Why don’t you tell me your name first?” the witch suggested, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom frowned and narrowed his eyes at her. What did she know? She seemed to be hiding something, so he lied, “Abraxas Malfoy.”

The witch smirked and let out a low chuckle. “No, you’re not. But I do know who you are,” she confirmed.

Glaring Tom stood from his spot on the floor, perhaps he could intimidate his way into her telling him what he needed to know. “And how do you know that I’m not Abraxas Malfoy?”

“Well the Malfoys are blond,” she pointed out. “Also, you don’t carry yourself like a Malfoy. Nor did Abraxas Malfoy travel to Albania in 1949.”

Suddenly, Tom realized that he must not be in 1949 anymore. He studied the necklace in his hand once more and then looked up at the witch who was still smirking at him.

“What year is it?” Tom asked, stepping closer to her and the couch. He studied the couch, it looked like it was the same one he’d passed out on the night before. Only, it was much, much older. More worn. Dirtier. How far had he come?

“2002,” the witch said softly.

Tom sat hard on the couch as he did the math. Fifty-three years into the future he’d traveled. “What is this?” he asked, holding up the necklace.

“A Time-Turner. But they haven’t been used to send people to the future before. I—” she cut herself off with a shake of her head.

“You have to go back, Tom,” the witch said. Tom nodded, but then whipped his head to look at her, sitting beside him on the couch.

“How the fuck do you know my name?” Tom asked suspiciously. She knew he wasn’t Abraxas, but how did she know that he was Tom?

She raised her eyebrow at him, “This is the future.”

* * *

  _August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Hermione was doing her best to stay calm as Tom Riddle stiffened beside her on the sofa. She had spent so much time and energy killing the would-be monster beside her that she felt rather betrayed that he’d shown up in her life again. Even worse was the way her body had reacted to the nearness of his own. She suddenly realized she was still only in her knickers and a t-shirt. She’d even removed her bra from the night before.

Maybe he’d let her fuck him before she sent him back to the past? All that raw energy he had probably made him good in bed, right? And the way he was looking at her now, as his eyes roved over her face gave her some hope that maybe she’d at least get laid out of this disaster of a vacation.

And it was a disaster. How much worse could a vacation get than to have Tom fucking Riddle show up unexpectedly? If she hadn’t laughed about it, surely she would have cried about it.

She shook her head, was she really thinking about trying to bed Tom Riddle? The monster who had made her and her friends lives miserable for years? He’d taken so much from Hermione’s friends and the greater wizarding world at large. How could she possibly be thinking this? She must be sick.

Her emotions were warring with her because, while her body had decided that he would fit perfectly between her legs, her brain was busy trying to think of a way to send him back in time. He couldn’t stay here. It was ridiculous to even think it. He would just fuck up the future as badly as he’d fucked up the past and Hermione was under no illusion that she could control him.

“How do you know who I am?” Tom asked quietly from beside her, interrupting her reverie.

“It’s the future,” Hermione said tiredly. “Fifty-three years is a very long time, Tom.”

“Does that mean I’m famous? If you know who I am? Am I Minister for Magic? Or Chief Warlock?” Tom asked, hope sparking in his deep blue eyes. Now that he’d come closer, Hermione could finally see. His eyes were so dark and deep blue that they appeared black unless you really looked for them.

Hermione sighed, “It means you’re dead.”

“I’m dead? But I’d only be seventy-six!”

“Still, you’re dead. I’m very sure of that,” Hermione said. And good thing she was so sure too. She didn’t want to imagine what it would be like if Voldemort and Tom Riddle were in the same world. She shuddered.

“Motherfucker,” Tom muttered, startling Hermione into a laugh.

Hermione settled back onto the couch behind her, stretching her neck as Tom studied the Time-Turner in his hands. She’d been successful in withholding her name. Hopefully, she can keep that up until she could figure out a way to send him back. Maybe she could steal the Time-Turner from him and send him back on her own. She suddenly had a feeling that he wouldn’t want to go back. Especially now that she’d let it slip that he was dead.

She wasn’t entirely surprised when he pulled his wand and pointed it in her face. It’s what she would have done after all.

“You have to go back,” Hermione said, ignoring the wand. “You’ll fuck up the timeline, the universe even. Maybe bring about the end of the world. There’s no way you can stay here.”

She was shocked when Tom laughed. He didn’t lower his wand though. “I’m not stupid. Maybe all that would be true if I traveled back through time, but I didn’t, did I? I came forward in time. Do you think a copy of me stayed behind? Doing all the things I would have done? That’s what I think. That’s why you know who I am and why your memories are still intact. I am not going back.”

Hermione stiffened. She knew that this was Tom Riddle aka Voldemort. She knew it and she had still underestimated him. She hadn’t truly thought through her plan to make him go back. Beyond insisting on it. Now, she was going to have to figure something else out.

His eyes slipped from hers to her chest and Hermione knew what her new plan was going to be. It was laughable how all men were the same.

Pushing his wand to the side, Hermione leaned closer to him. “But before you go, perhaps…” she trailed off and let her eyes wander down from his towards his lips, allowing her gaze to linger there, whilst she sent her own tongue out to lick her bottom lip and then bite on it gently. Tom’s eyes followed her movements and Hermione thought she was winning him over.

Sleeping with Tom Riddle was a stupid thing to do, logically, Hermione knew that. But she also knew she needed to get that Time-Turner away from him, so she could send him back. Besides, sleeping with him would kill two birds with one stone. She’d be able to scratch that itch—it had been far too long—and she’d be able to steal the Time-Turner from him when his mind was focussed on another task. It was stupid but really the perfect plan, she assured herself.    



	3. Future

* * *

_August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Tom watched as the witch leaned closer to him. She was being entirely too forward. Were all women in 2002 this forward? Or just her? Tom definitely wanted to find out whether all witches were like this. Imagine if witches in 1949 have behaved like this. Tom leered at her, allowing her attempts at seduction. If he was being honest with himself, and he always strived to be honest with himself, she was rather sexy in just her t-shirt and knickers. Her hair was tousled from sleep still, and Tom wondered what it felt like. She licked her lip and bit it and Tom imagined her wrapping those lips around his cock. He was suddenly unbearably hard.

He decided that playing hard to get might be amusing. How hard would she try to sleep with him? Was it only so she could steal the Time-Turner from him? He had to think that was the case, a remarkable tactic if that’s what it was. And Tom was no gentleman. He wouldn’t turn her down.

“Perhaps, what?” he prompted, letting his eyes drift over her lips before slipping them down to her chest once more. He could see the faint outline of a nipple and had the sudden desire to take it into his mouth.

“Perhaps we can have a little mutually beneficial pleasure,” the witch smiled seductively.

“Fancy a walk on the dark side, do you?” Tom asked as he reached a hand out, ghosting it over her breast. She sighed and leaned ever so subtly into his hand.

“I just fancy getting laid while on vacation,” the witch responded and Tom’s eyebrows rose. She was quite forward. Tom found he didn’t mind as he palmed her breast further and the witch straddled him. Her center was hot against his crotch and he felt his cock begin to stir. She draped her arms across his shoulders and rolled her hips as he tweaked her nipple through her shirt. He placed his other hand on her hip, holding her in place.

“I could get behind some mutually beneficial pleasure,” Tom murmured as he took her nipple into his mouth through her shirt. He sucked, fully wetting her shirt and the witch keened above him. Tom smirked against her chest and blew lightly on the wet fabric, watching as her nipple pebbled beneath.

The witch reached down and drew her shirt over her head, dropping it on the floor somewhere behind the sofa, before attacking the buttons on Tom’s shirt. Tom reached both hands forward and tested the weight of her breasts. They were fairly large in his hands, spilling over them slightly and Tom had the urge to press his face between them. Merlin, he loved a pair of pillowy breasts. He tweaked her nipples with his thumbs, twisting them slightly and loved that she rocked forward in his lap each time he did it. A quick glance at her face and Tom found her eyes half-lidded and her mouth open in a pant.

She finally reached the end of the buttons on his shirt and peeled apart the two sides, pushing it from his shoulders. Tom wiggled out of it, best he could trapped as he was on the couch. Not that he minded. His cock had been hardening further and was now straining to be released from the imprisonment of his trousers.

Tom licked each of her nipples and was rewarded for his troubles when she sighed and moaned above him.

“Perhaps we should move this to the bed so as to make it fully beneficial to everyone,” Tom commented lightly.

The witch gave him another sultry look before stepping back onto the floor. She pushed her knickers down as she walked to the small bedroom and Tom found his mouth go dry at the view of all that skin. He kicked his shoes off and socks off as he followed her into the bedroom. A quick flick and his trousers and pants were on the floor too. She was crawling onto the bed and before she could turn around, Tom followed her, pulling her hips to his. He thrust his hard erection into the cleft of her arse and she moaned at the contact. Salazar, he couldn’t wait to be buried inside her.

Tom reached a hand between them and found she was almost dripping. He rubbed his fingers through her folds, finding her clit at the top. She moaned when he rubbed it and rocked her hips back into his hands. He stroked it several more times, wanting her to be truly ready for him.

“Tom, please,” she cried and Tom felt his heart beat faster at her plea. He wanted to hear that again so he pulled his hand away from her and gripped his cock. He waited a beat and was pleased when she pushed her hips back once more, begging him.

Giving in to what they both wanted, Tom lined himself up and pushed inside her at the same moment she moved back once more. It was heaven being wrapped in her tight heat.

“Fuck, witch,” Tom groaned, gripping her hips tightly. He pushed her forward and slammed her back a few times, relishing her cries. She sounded so sweet when begging for him and Tom found himself wanting more. He pulled out of her and placed a hand on her back, pushing her to the bed below. A quick flip and she was on her back. Tom smirked to see her panting, her hair a halo of curls above her head. He lifted one leg to his shoulders and sank back into her heat. He was in just the right position that he could reach a nipple with his mouth and began sucking on one.

Her hands flew to his head and back, pulling him closer, rocking her hips into him. He wondered if she could come like this, with him pounding into her and no more stimulation than his mouth on her nipple.

“Tom!” she shouted and he felt her walls flutter than clamp down on his cock. That answered that question. He slowed his thrusts through her climax and when she fell bonelessly to the bed, he sped up once more. If she was only going to allow this to happen once, he was going to take the most advantage of it. Although, if he had his way, he would be doing this again and again and again.

He leaned back onto his heels and pulled her onto his lap, he grasped one of her hands and pulled her to sit. She caught on quickly and wrapped her legs around his waist, using her feet to help bounce her on his lap. He had his arms around her back, pressing her breasts to his chest. He loved the way her pebbled nipples slid across his skin. He fisted a hand in her hair at the nape of her neck and kissed her for the first time.

She tasted of the hangover relief potion and sunshine and Tom had never tasted anything like it. He deepened the kiss, opening her mouth with his tongue and exploring everything he could reach. His thrusts had slowed as he examined her mouth with his own. He finally pulled away when he felt short of breath and began planting kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

“Merlin, Tom,” the witch begged, attempting to get him to move faster by raking her nails down his back. Tom arched into her touch, loving the roughness of it.

“That’s it,” Tom replied and began bouncing her harder and faster, relishing the way her tits bounced between them. They were pressed so tightly together that Tom couldn’t reach a hand between them to flick at her clit, instead, he ground upward pressing her pelvis into his.

Her crescendoing cries indicated he was hitting all of the right spots and it wasn’t long before she collapsed in his arms, boneless once more. Tom grinned as he tucked her head against his shoulders and began his slow onslaught once more. He was close, so close when she began rhythmically tightening her inner muscles around his cock. He groaned and ground into her. She began helping once more, digging her heels into the bed, creating the leverage he needed to finally, let loose. He bit her shoulder hard as he came, splashing his seed deep inside her. She shuddered and groaned through yet another climax and Tom couldn’t stop the grin from plastering on his face.

Slowly, he laid her back on the bed and threw an arm around her waist, pulling her close, her back to his chest. She waved her hand and the sheet flew up and covered them lightly. Tom closed his eyes. He would rest for just a moment.

* * *

When the witch finally fell asleep, Tom extricated himself from her embrace and slid out of the bed. He watched her sleep for a few moments before donning his clothes and leaving the bedroom for the living area. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the bookshelves were filled. They had been empty in his day and he wondered if they were her books or if they belonged to whoever owned the cabin. He knew she didn’t own the cabin, or at least he assumed it since she had mentioned she was on vacation. He shook his head, who in the world came to the Albanian mountains on vacation?

He gazed down at her once more before summoning his wand. If he was going to be truly prepared, he needed some more time. He palmed his wand—considering his options. He could Stupefy her, but that didn’t allow true rest and if he wanted another go with her, then rest is what she needed.

“ _Dormia_ ,” he whispered and moved his wand in a small circle near her temple. The witch grunted and rolled to her stomach, letting up a light snore. Tom smiled.

Tom threw on his trousers and was happy to discover that the Time-Turner was still in the pocket. He wondered how they worked and how the witch knew so much about them? For that matter, how she knew so much about him? And one of his closest followers. It was very curious. He stepped into the living area and made for the bookshelves, wondering what sorts of books this witch liked to read. He was mildly impressed to see various Potions, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy texts on the shelves. He didn’t spot a single work of fiction. This was what she liked to read while on vacation? It didn’t boggle Tom’s mind, but it was curious that she seemed to be so much like him. He, too, had never had much use for fiction, much preferring books that would actually teach him something.

He browsed her books, trying to find something interesting when he came across a book written by an old housemate of his, Rita Skeeter. She’d been a few years younger than Tom but had always been ambitious. _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ , the title read. Tom pulled it out and turned it over in his hands. The jacket listed a death date for Dumbledore and Tom couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his face. Very interesting that Dumbledore was dead. And that made any future plans of Tom’s almost sure to succeed. This would be a good first book to begin his education into the world that was fifty-three years in the future of the one he’d left behind. He looked through her books once more, to see if there was anything else of interest and spotted Rita Skeeter’s name once more. _Harry Potter - The Chosen One_. The chosen one? Chosen for what? Tom pulled that book as well and read the dust jacket.

_Harry Potter - The Chosen One - The Boy Who Lived - The Defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sits down with the one and only Rita Skeeter for a new and all-inclusive interview. Learn how The Boy Who Lived became The Defeater of You-Know-Who. Don’t be surprised at his modesty, nor how much credit he gives his dear friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Harry Potter is as good as he is selfless. Come with me, dear readers, for a journey of heroic proportions and learn exactly how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated once and for all._

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Tom wondered who that was. A brief look through the book offered an alternative name, The Dark Lord. Tom grinned, he was just beginning to use his alter-ego Lord Voldemort in 1949. Tom wondered briefly if it was _him_ who was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He shook his head. As much as he’d like to believe it was him, it was almost too coincidental to be true. He took both books back to the sofa and settled in to read them. Perhaps he’d have a bit more information before the witch woke up. Something to negotiate his terms with. 

* * *

  _August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Hermione grunted and rolled over in her sleep. Her head felt stuffy and heavy. She cracked on eye-lid to see the sun sinking in the sky. Merlin, had she slept all day? She groaned and realized she’d felt this way before. A few years ago, she had broken her leg in an ill-advised attempt at riding a broom at one of the Weasleys pick-up Quidditch matches. She’d drank too much wine and Ron had dared her. It ended with her in heap on the ground, sobbing huge tears and unable to look at her mangled leg. Harry had Apparated her to St Mungo’s and stayed with her until they’d given her the Skele-Gro and cast a sleeping charm at her. When she woke up, she felt just as she did now. A muzzy headedness that was different than a hangover. She stretched and wondered what on earth had happened when she rolled over to spot a men’s button-up shirt lying on the floor between the bedroom and the living area.

She’d forgotten about Tom. She could just make out his form on the sofa in the living area. He was hunched over something and Hermione felt her heart beat faster. She was nervous and scared, what on earth had possessed her to sleep with Tom Riddle? Not that it hadn’t been amazing. It had been fucking phenomenal. Probably the best fuck of Hermione’s life and that made the whole thing worse when she’d have to send him back.

Send him back. Shit. She’d told him she wanted to send him back and he’d cast a sleep spell on her. Her blood ran cold; there was no telling what Tom had done in the hours since this morning and now. She reached for her wand, praying it was still tucked underneath the mattress where she’d left it yesterday and was pleased to find it. She felt the warmth holding her wand normally infused her with and carefully got out of the bed, hoping that none of the floorboards would creek and give up the game to Tom. She found her dressing gown, a flimsy black thing made of jersey and tied it around herself before taking a few deep breaths and venturing into the living area with her wand still clutched in her hand.

Tom was shirtless and hunched over several books. Hermione furrowed her brow and glanced toward the bookshelves finding several holes. Her blood ran cold, she’d brought some books that would not due for Tom to be reading. Especially if she was determined to send him back in time. What if he found the one of Harry?

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hermione asked and summoned Tom’s wand at the same time. She trained both on the dark-haired wizard praying that her hands wouldn’t start trembling in her fear.

The startled look on Tom’s face almost made Hermione smirk, but she was too scared to smirk. Too nervous that she had fucked this up. What would she do if she gave Voldemort the power to defeat her best friend?

Tom’s face went carefully blank and he shrugged. “I woke and was curious about where I landed myself. Can’t help a wizard if he has a thirst for knowledge, can you?”

Hermione sucked in a breath. Tom Riddle didn’t even know her and yet he was trying to appeal to Hermione’s love of learning and knowledge. She bit her lip and thought about what her options were at this point. She had hoped seducing him and stealing the Time-Turner would have worked, but Tom was better than her. Smarter for sure. It was rare that Hermione found someone else who’s intellect matched her own and for a moment she regretted that it was Tom Riddle of all people and that she would have to send him back to the past.

“It doesn’t matter where you’ve landed yourself,” she hissed. Tom stood from the couch and began walking her way. “You have to go back! You can’t stay here! I won’t allow it!”

Tom grinned at her, it started as a slow smirk and turned into a full-blown grin by the time he reached her. He dug his hand into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out the Time-Turner. The chain was long and intact but the pendant was smashed beyond all repair. The rings were battered and stuck together and the glass of the hourglass was shattered. The sand that lived inside nowhere to be found.

Hermione felt sick, her stomach lurched violently, “What have you done?”

The Time-Turner spun in the air between them and Hermione fought down the urge to vomit.

“Ensured that there was no way I would be going back to 1949,” Tom shrugged lightly, but his grin turned nasty. He flung the Time-Turner across the room and stepped even closer to Hermione. She backed up, her back coming into contact with the doorjamb behind her.

Tom Riddle had just destroyed the last Time-Turner in the world. And now he was stuck in the future with her. What the fuck was she supposed to do now?


	4. Negotiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I bow down to the wonderful RachaelLA26 for her dedicated work on this story. If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff.**

 

* * *

 

_August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Tom was pleased with the panicked look on the witch’s face. If he could keep her in a state of panic, perhaps he’d be able to negotiate a return to London with her. It was obvious she was British, and if he wasn’t mistaken her accent gave away her London roots. He stepped closer to her and smirked when she stiffened. Quick as a flash he plucked both wands from her fists and whirled away, not stopping until he was on the other side of the small cabin.

She looked equal parts gobsmacked and terrified. It fairly made Tom’s body hum. He wanted her again.

“So it appears that I will be staying, Miss…” he trailed off. The infuriating witch still hadn’t told him her name and he was determined to find out.

“Granger,” she said faintly, still looking stunned. Tom felt a drop of disappointment in his abdomen. Granger was not a wizarding name. He had hoped he’d stumbled across some Pureblood princess, that would only make his life easier when he went back to Britain with her and began wooing the Pureblood class once more.

“Not a Pureblood then?” he asked.

The witch’s lips tightened and she gave herself a little shake, seeming to come to a decision. “Should I enlighten you to today’s political climate, Tom?” she spat at him. “Or is it Lord Voldemort? How many Horcruxes have you made already?”

Her voice was angry and full of ire, but Tom felt his blood run cold. How was it possible she knew so much about him? He’d read both _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ and _Harry Potter - The Chosen One_ from front to back and never had Lord Voldemort been mentioned at all. Nor were The Knights of Walpurgis mentioned, which mean that whoever He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was, it wasn’t him. And if it wasn’t him, then he wasn’t as famous as he hoped. So how in the world had this Miss Granger known so much about him?

She seemed to read his face because she crossed her arms over her chest, causing her dressing gown to gape fetchingly, offering Tom quite the view of her left breast.

“It’s the future, Tom. I know quite a lot about you.” Her tone was scathing and Tom felt a stirring in his cock. But it wasn’t the time for sex, not yet anyway. He needed to know what she knew. Needed to know how she knew what she knew.

“Tell me what you know,” he demanded fiercely, stalking closer to her.

Granger threw back her head and laughed and Tom felt his heart rate increase; her laugh was like an aphrodisiac, the sound of it running straight to his balls.

“I have another week left on my vacation. Nobody will come looking for me for at least a month. Do what you want to me, but without me, you won’t survive this world. The minute you step foot in wizarding Britain, you’ll be hunted. Killed even.”

Tom didn’t know if he could believe her. Obviously, the books he’d read hadn’t given him all of the information. He debated about whether he could trust her to be telling him the truth. He didn’t want to believe her but his cock throbbed for her once more and he was undecided about what his next step should be. It wasn’t a position he’d found himself in very often and it made him nervous. 

* * *

  _August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Hermione had no idea if Tom believed her or not. She could only hope that he would, she didn’t really fancy dying in the Albanian mountains. Perhaps if she made herself seem valuable he wouldn’t kill her outright. If she could make it back to London, with or without Tom in tow, then she could get word to Harry and between the two of them they’d figure out something to do. _You could just kill him now_ , a voice whispered in her head and Hermione shuddered. She’d survived the entire war without casting the Killing Curse. She didn’t particularly want to break that streak now, even if she logically knew she’d be killing evil incarnate. _It wouldn’t have to be the Killing Curse… there are other ways…_ Hermione shut her eyes and pressed her hands to either side of her head. She wasn’t going to kill him. Not if she could help it. She wasn’t a murderer, she just wasn’t.

Suddenly, Tom was standing before her again, towering over her, his wand shoved into her throat and a threatening look on his face. “Tell me why you know so much about me.” It was a demand, not a request.

Hermione steeled her Gryffindor spine, straightening against the doorjamb behind her and answered him. “Because I spent a year of my life tracking down your Horcruxes and destroying them. All of them. All _seven_ of them,” she hissed.

Tom’s eyes widened in shock and Hermione couldn’t stop the smirk from forming on her face.

“They’re gone… _all_ of them?” he breathed. His wand dipped lower and he got a far-away look in his eyes.

“And you’re dead,” Hermione reminded him. “I helped do that too.”

Hermione pointed to the books he’d left forgotten on the table behind him. “Do you know who He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is?”

Tom held his breath. It was him, he knew it was him. He couldn’t believe he was so _feared_ that people were terrified of saying his name. A flood of relief, power, and hunger filled his veins.

“You are,” she answered her own question. “Lord Voldemort,” she laughed. “People are still so scared of your fucking name that they won’t even print it in _books_.” She laughed again and her smirk turned nasty, cruel even.

“And now you’re here. I need to know how many you’ve made so far. Horcruxes, how many have you? And where are they? It was a lot of work to track down seven of them. I’d rather…” she trailed off and realized she knew exactly how many he had. He was in Albania, which meant he was looking for the diadem. The diadem was the third Horcrux he made, so that meant he had the diary and the ring.

“The diary and the ring,” Hermione breathed. “Where are they? Have you found the diadem yet? You must still be looking…” she trailed off again. “You must have went to look for the diadem before you went to see Hepzibah Smith,” she mused almost to herself.

But Tom was standing right there and he heard it all. Suddenly, he slammed her against the wall and Hermione realized that what was pressed so insistently against her belly was not a wand. It was much too thick for that. She gasped and her breath left her entirely when he trailed a finger down the gaping neckline of her dressing gown, his finger leaving a path of fire in its wake. The sexual chemistry between them was electric, magnetic and suddenly she was burning for him.

“Don’t try to distract me,” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders almost involuntarily. She willed her legs to stay put, no matter how much she wanted to wrap them around his waist and trap that long, hard, hot length between them.

“Oh, is this distracting?” Tom asked, breathing in her ear. Hermione had no idea what he did with the wands, but they weren’t in his hands now. Now his hands had pulled open both sides of her dressing gown, cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples. Her mind went blank with need and she panted, unable to answer him.

“Yes,” she hissed as he lowered his dark head and took one of her nipples in his mouth. Now instead of clutching his shoulders, she was holding his head to her chest. Her traitor left leg had crept up and was now clutching at his hips. Tom took the hint and dropped both hands to her arse, lifting her. Hermione finally wrapped her legs around his waist, trapping his cock between them and it pulsed against her bare center. She hadn’t bothered with knickers and soon the dressing gown was untied completely, still hanging from her shoulders.

Tom kissed his way to her other nipple, taking a moment to breathe in the air in the valley of her breasts and Hermione’s own breath hitched in response. Logically, she knew that sleeping with Tom Riddle once had been a very stupid idea. And doing it a second time? It was practically unforgivable. But it didn’t stop her from reaching a hand between them, attempting to pry the buttons of his trousers apart. She desperately wanted that cock inside her.

Tom chuckled at her efforts, finally raising his head from her chest. The look in his deep blue eyes stopped Hermione from breathing. She could see want and lust and something else, something darker swirling in their depths. Tom whispered something and suddenly his unclothed dick was sliding through her sopping folds.

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione groaned, clutching at his shoulders, urging him on.

“Oh, we certainly will,” Tom muttered, sliding his cock up and down through her folds, nudging at her clit. It was almost too much, Hermione could feel her climax building and he hadn’t even entered her yet. How would she survive this man if they couldn’t go more than a few hours without fucking?

Her heart lurched when she realized she was thinking of a future, of _the_ future with him. That was a dangerous thought. Much too dangerous to be thinking about on the edge of her orgasm.

“Please,” Hermione begged. She had no shame, she wanted him. She wanted him to fill her up until she couldn’t speak coherent sentences anymore. She wanted more climaxes when he’d already given her three that day. She was greedy and unashamed of either of those facts. “Please,” she said again.

“And that’s what I was waiting for,” Tom growled and impaled her on his length. Hermione tossed her head back and keened at the sudden intrusion. It felt so fucking good. So, so fucking good she couldn’t think anymore. She could only react. Tom grasped first one hand, then the other and pulled them above her head. He slid both hands down her arms and Hermione realized he must have stuck her wrists to the wall because she couldn’t move them. She was both exhilarated and slightly panicked that she was restrained, unable to stop him from accessing her body in any way he pleased.

She whimpered when he slowed and shallowed his thrusting as he paid homage to her breasts. “Please,” Hermione said again. She should be ashamed of the amount of begging that was going on, but she wasn’t. Not right now, now she was too far gone with need to be ashamed of anything. “Please, Tom, I fucking need you,” Hermione groaned as he slowly circled his hips. She was so close to her orgasm that she could practically taste it.

Tom lifted his dark head and smirked at her. Hermione’s eyes rolled back in her head as the tension in her body snapped and she came. Tom began snapping his hips into Hermione, his sack slapping her bum as he pumped in and out.

Hermione groaned, feeling another climax begin to climb its way out from her center. “Fucking yes,” she moaned and Tom covered her mouth with his own as he took her. She didn’t care that he was the future Dark Lord. She didn’t care that he was evil incarnate or the devil or anything else. At that moment, the only thing that mattered to Hermione was that he didn’t stop. That he continued pounding his way into her cunt and giving her the best sex she’d had. Period. Ever. Full stop. Nothing good could be said about Tom Riddle except that he was a phenomenal bed partner. And right then, that’s all that mattered to Hermione. 

* * *

  _August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Tom slowly pulled out of Granger and propped her up between him and the wall behind her. He whispered a release and her hands fell limply to her side. Her hair was a bushy mess behind her head and Tom thought she looked rather fetching. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing hard. He was sure that if he pulled away, she’d fall bonelessly to the floor. He rather liked this look on her and a fierce wave of possession shot through him. He didn’t generally want to possess witches. There were so many out there to choose from, but this witch caused him to feel things he’d never felt before. And she was infuriating, he didn’t even know her first name, but he knew he wanted to have her again and again. He could feel his cock stirring at just the thought of it. He pressed a swift kiss to her lips and then pulled away to lean his forehead against hers as they both recovered.

She’d said he’d be hunted or even killed if he returned to wizarding Britain without her. Tom already knew he was going to do his best to convince her to stand at his side. Something he’d never contemplated before, but fifty-three years into the future and he knew he would need someone to help him navigate the differences between his world and hers. She would be the perfect person to do it too. Smart, beautiful, and he had an inkling that she was probably fairly powerful as well. The Hangover Relief potion she’d made had worked flawlessly and she didn’t have a wand on her when she had summoned it. Beyond all that, the thought of murdering her because she knew too much made his stomach churn. Not when he could keep fucking her. Murder wasn’t the only way to control the narrative after all. Sex worked just as well sometimes. And Granger was practically gagging for it. Right now, she was pressing slow, soft kisses to the side of his neck. Tom’s cock was now doing more than stirring at her attention.

Besides all of that, if there was one thing Tom was it was selfish, and he found he rather liked fucking Granger. He wanted to keep fucking her. So the best way to do that was to get her on his side. And keep her there. And that had the added benefit of keeping her around to mine for information. For example, who was this Harry Potter and how had he defeated Tom? And how did Granger know Potter? All things that he would come to learn if he kept her at his side. He hadn’t truly been contemplating killing her, but clearly, she thought that he might. Not only was that good information to have, it didn’t mean Tom had to tell her that he wouldn’t kill her. Tom had found through the years that being unpredictable was always better for keeping his Knights on their toes. No better way to ensure compliance than being unpredictable. And the threat of murder helped too.

Tom pulled away entirely from Granger leveling her his best cool face, he turned from her, collecting both wands from where he dropped them on the floor and pulled his trousers back on. He really needed more information about his Horcruxes. She had said they’d destroyed them all, was that still the case? He’d have to check on where he’d hidden both the diary and the ring to figure out if they were still there or gone. He needed to return to Britain as soon as possible. He could always come back to Albania; if both the ring and diary were in place, to find the diadem.

He turned to face Granger, who had pulled her dressing gown around her once more and was glaring at him. “Take me back to London with you.”

Granger laughed. Tom was really getting sick of her laughing at him.


	5. Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Much thanks to the talented RachaelLA26 for her beta work. If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on my Tumblr crochetawayhpff or my facebook Shan Crochetaway.**

* * *

_August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Hermione couldn’t help her laughter even after seeing the dark look Tom had on his face. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “You must be fucking insane if you think I am taking you to London with me.”

Her eyes widened when Tom stalked towards her again, both wands in his hands. She needed to get her wand back from him in order to gain some control of this situation. But how? She didn’t think seducing him a second time would work. Especially since it didn’t really work the first time—except to give her that vacation sex she’d been craving. _Merlin, he’s a good fuck_. Hermione could already feel arousal beginning to set in as he made his way back across the cabin to her.

“You _will_ take me back to London with you,” Tom said low and quiet, almost threateningly.

“How will I explain that?” Hermione asked. She closed her eyes, she couldn’t really be contemplating this, could she?

“We met in Albania,” Tom murmured, tracing the curve of her cheek with his finger, finally cupping her cheek fully and guiding her face up. “We fell in love,” he breathed over her lips before pressing a soft kiss to them. When he pulled away she tried to follow and he gave her a cruel smirk. “Blah, blah, blah. You’re a smart witch, I’m sure you can figure out the details.”

Hermione did her best to reign in her lust so she could think straight. She took a deep breath before she responded. “You sound British,” she said keeping her voice as neutral as possible. “How would we explain that?”

“I had a good tutor,” Tom cocked his head to the side and smiled at her. Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine at that smile. It was so deliciously wicked, promising untold pleasures.

“You look like Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle who’s dead. Tom Riddle who would be seventy-six, not Tom Riddle who is clearly twenty-three,” she pointed out. She didn’t tell him that when he died he definitely did _not_ look like any version of Tom Riddle. He’d looked horrific, like some sort of snake/human hybrid creature. Somehow, the idea that the snake/human hybrid thing was the same person as standing in front of her wasn’t horrifying. Logically, Hermione thought it ought to be horrifying. It was objectively horrifying. Was something _wrong_ with Hermione that she didn’t find it horrifying?

“And who remembers what Tom Riddle looks like?” Tom asked as if it was an absurd point. But Hermione knew a lot of people who knew what Tom looked like when he was younger.

“Me, my best friend, his wife, your Death Eaters,” she ticked them off on her fingers as she spoke. It was a little gratifying to see Tom’s eyes widen at the list. Then she realized that in 1949 it was likely he hadn’t even conceived of the Death Eaters then. They were probably still going around as the Knights of Walpurgis. She felt like groaning but kept her composure over the slip. This time travel business was hard. She would have to be more vigilant in the future.

Tom shrugged and grinned, “I’ll wear a glamor.”

Hermione couldn’t believe she was actually contemplating this. It was insanity. And yet, it wasn’t like she could let baby Voldemort run around without her. Even if this wasn’t her responsibility, it became her responsibility by virtue of circumstance.

“No more Horcruxes,” Hermione raised her finger and pointed it at him. He was close enough that she could have touched him.  

“For now,” Tom capitulated.

“No!” Hermione shouted. This time she poked him in the chest with her finger. “Not ever. If you make another Horcrux, you’ll lose the small shred of humanity you are clinging to. If you lose that, I’ll kill you.” She was deadly serious and Tom narrowed his eyes at her.

“You couldn’t kill me,” he said and grinned suddenly, dropping his voice, “you like fucking me too much.” He stepped closer, backing her into the wall again. But Hermione wasn’t ready to be talked out of this quite yet.

“I will do what is necessary for the greater good. I’ve tracked down your Horcruxes once before Tom Marvolo Riddle. Don’t think that I won’t do it again. Good fuck or not.”

Tom glared at her. “Now you sound like that fool Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore was a great man,” Hermione conceded. “But a bit of a fool. I am not a fool. You know what they call me in the gossip columns, Tom? Brightest Witch of Her Age, you think I got that title for painting my fingernails?”

Tom considered her for a long moment. Hermione’s heart was ready to beat itself out of her chest, but she wasn’t backing down from this. It was unconscionable to create a Horcrux. She would already have to figure out a way to see if the diary and ring were back in play. If they were, she would have to try and get them. Could she destroy them? Or would that cause Tom to lose more of his humanity? It was hard to judge based on Voldemort considering he’d been half-insane and that ridiculous snake/human hybrid. Technically his soul was already ripped, would destroying part of that rip destroy part of him? Or was it no longer connected? It was too many questions. Hermione would just have to hope that both the ring and diary were still destroyed. That was by far the best outcome.

Finally, Tom came to a conclusion. “Fine. No more Horcruxes.”

Hermione smirked at him. “Good, then you won’t mind taking an Unbreakable Vow, will you?”

Tom looked furious. “You don’t trust me?”

Hermione laughed. “How could I fucking trust you? You’re the Dark Lord? Lord Voldemort? You’ve made two already and have plans to make five more. It’s insanity and it’s what ends up killing you in the end. If I take you with me, agree to babysit you. Because let’s be honest, that’s what this is, babysitting. Then I set the terms. No more Horcruxes is just one of my terms. The other is murder. As in you can’t do it.”

Tom looked affronted. “I will not take an Unbreakable Vow barring me from murder. What if it’s life or death?”

“Then you die,” Hermione shrugged. She wasn’t concerned. There wasn’t a war going on. And hopefully, there wouldn’t be for the rest of her life.

“No,” Tom stated.

“Then I leave you here when I return to London,” Hermione replied.

“I have your wand,” Tom reminded her.

Hermione laughed. “I’m Muggleborn, Tom. I’m perfectly capable of getting home the Muggle way if necessary.”

He looked furious and Hermione couldn’t help from laughing again. She shouldn’t be having this much fun baiting him, but it was. And it was either laugh or cry. What would she tell Harry and Ron?

“Fine,” Tom spat.

Hermione held out her hand for her wand.

“Who’s going to be our bonder?” Tom asked.

“Since I’m not vowing anything, we don’t need one,” Hermione replied.

“You are vowing to return me to London with you,” Tom said.

“No, you are going to trust that I keep my word. Unlike you, Tom, I’m not a future Dark Lord. So you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Not yet,” Tom muttered darkly and Hermione glared at him. After a long moment, Tom held her wand out to her. He grabbed her right wrist in a death grip and Hermione held her wand in her left hand a little awkwardly.

“Do you Tom Riddle swear you will not make a Horcrux now or ever in the future, so long as you shall live?” Hermione asked.

“I do so vow,” Tom intoned and Hermione tapped their grasped wrists. A ribbon of white light shot out of her wand and wrapped around both of their wrists.

“Do you Tom Riddle swear you will not murder anyone, except in the case of absolute self-defense now or ever in the future, so long as you shall live?”

“I do so vow.”

Hermione tapped their wrists again. Another ribbon of white light wrapped around their wrists and both sunk into the skin. It burned slightly, but Hermione kept her face neutral.

Tom turned from her abruptly and Hermione sagged in relief. She had no idea what she was going to do once they were back in London. Hopefully, Harry and Ron would understand that she didn’t have a choice and that she had done the best thing she could under the circumstances. Perhaps, they’d even help her figure out what to do with him.

* * *

  _August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

There was a bitter taste in Tom’s mouth after taking the Unbreakable Vow. He wanted to hate Granger for making him do it. And part of him did, but still, she knew so much of the future. So much of _his_ future that he hesitated to dismiss her entirely. Not only could she get him back to London but she could help him not make the mistakes he’d made before. And it was clear she thought that Horcruxes were a mistake. The murder ban was a hard pill to swallow. But she’d left him two loopholes. One she probably hadn’t even thought of: she’d said nothing of Tom ordering one of his Knights or rather his Death Eaters in this time to murder someone on his behalf. Outsourcing his dirty work was something that Tom had always been comfortable with.

He was actually a little surprised that Granger had agreed as readily as she had. He didn’t think she had an ulterior motive beyond ‘babysitting him’, as she called it. She seemed too… Gryffindor-ish to have an ulterior motive. Although the Unbreakable Vow had been a stroke of genius.

“Fine, it’s done. Let’s go,” Tom snapped and bent to pick up his button-up shirt. The sooner they were back in London the better. He could begin tracking down his Knights and figuring out the current political climate.

Granger laughed again and Tom was heartily sick of it. He felt like hexing her but held off since she now had her wand again.

“I’ve paid through the end of next week. I only get one vacation, I’m not leaving early on account of you,” she sneered.

“I don’t care,” Tom said. He was starting to feel heartily pissed off. Who cared about her ruddy vacation? He had a world to conquer.

“Well I do,” Granger snapped. “It’s my only vacation, let me enjoy it.” She sounded exasperated, but Tom was just angry.

“Albania is fucking boring! I should know, I’ve been in this fucking cabin for a month! What the hell is there here to enjoy?”

Granger smirked at him. Tom was getting to know that look on her face. It was the one she got when she’d seduced him earlier. “I’m sure I’ll find _some_ way to entertain myself.”

Tom huffed out a breath. This witch was fucking insatiable. He was annoyed that she won’t leave and hoped that she wouldn't always be so obstinate. He didn't particularly care that he tied himself to her, but hopefully, once they get back to London if she proves too difficult he can get rid of her. As it stood now, she was rather fantastic in bed and he hadn’t been laid in several months, he was going though a bit of a dry spell even before he came to Albania. Did it really matter if he put off recruiting for another week or so?

“I still don’t know your name,” Tom reminded her.

Granger pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side, finally, she said, “Hermione. Hermione Granger.”

Something clicked in Tom’s head, Hermione Granger was a name he’d read before. Rather recently. _Wasn’t she in that book about Harry Potter_ , his brain helpfully supplied. One of his friends, which probably meant that the best friend she had spoken of earlier was this Harry Potter. Even better, if he could get close to one of Potter’s friends, it would be much easier to eliminate him.

“Hermione,” he repeated slowly and she shivered in response. His smirk was slow and delighted. She liked the way he said her name. He could tell by the way she was now biting her lip.

“I think I might enjoy spending the week with you before we go to London,” Tom said slowly and reached for her, pulling her into a swift kiss. She moaned into his mouth in response and Tom deepened the kiss. Hermione wound her hands through Tom’s hair, pulling him closer to her and Tom obliged her. He slipped on hand between the sides of her dressing gown, palming one of her breasts.

“Tom,” she said breathlessly breaking the kiss. She pulled away entirely, except for her hand in his and led him back through the doorway to the bedroom. Apparently, she didn’t want to be taken against the door again. Tom could deal with that, even if it had been incredibly sexy.

When they got to the bed, she turned to him and slid his half-buttoned shirt up and over his head. Tom flicked the knot in her dressing gown and she let it drop to the floor. She then worked on the placket of his trousers, helping him to pull them off his legs. Soon they were both nude once again. Tom didn’t think he’d had as much sex in such a short period as he was about to have. He mostly stuck to one-night flings.

Hermione pushed his shoulders lightly, guiding him back to the bed and Tom complied. He didn’t particularly care for being on the bottom, he liked control, but he was willing to at least let her start out on top. She surprised him though by crawling between his legs and placing a soft kiss on the head of his hard cock.

Tom loved fellatio and laid back onto the pillows, lacing his fingers behind his head, to enjoy what she was offering. She licked him from root to tip and Tom shuddered at the feeling of her wet tongue on his sensitive prick. One of her hands cupped his balls, while she supported herself with the other on his thigh. She licked all around the head, tonguing the slit, and Tom felt crazy with need. He unlaced his hands and reached one down to delve through her curls, grabbing a fistful of them for leverage.

Finally, she slowly took him into her mouth. “Fucking yes,” Tom groaned. He was panting by this point with need. He helped her take more of him, slowly pushing on the back of her head and holding himself there. The tip of his cock was in her throat and she swallowed. Tom could have come right then but held off and Hermione lifted her head. She pulled off his cock entirely and at first Tom thought he would get scolded, but Hermione just winked at him before swirling her tongue around his head again. Clearly, she was into torture. He tried to urge her to take him in her mouth again, but she refused, and instead planted wet kisses down the shaft until she reached his balls. She licked them both and Tom’s head fell back at the pleasure of her warm tongue.

“Hermione,” he panted. “Please.” He wasn’t one to beg, but she was driving him absolutely insane with her gentle kisses.

With another wink, she opened her mouth and swallowed him once more. She nodded and Tom once again helped her to take more of him, slowly pushing on the back of her head until her nose was touching his abdomen. She swallowed once more, her throat constricting so tightly and beautifully around his cock that Tom thought for sure that would be enough for him to come, but he didn’t. And as much fun as this was, he was too anxious to allow her to do it again. Maybe later this week, but for now, he just needed to be buried inside her warmth. As she released his length again, he pulled her up until she was straddling his hips.

He flexed his hips, allowing his cock to slide through her hot, silky folds. She was practically dripping, and Tom tucked the information away for later. Apparently, Hermione was turned on by giving fellatio. He settled a hand on either side of her waist, while she helped to guide him inside her.

She moaned as she slowly slid down his cock and Tom hummed happily at finally being inside her. She rocked forward a few times and moaned. Her face was so open, Tom loved the way she looked as she fucked herself. He stopped her movements and then scooted up the bed a little. He rested his back against the headboard and then lifted his knees behind her, tilting her forward to lay on top of him. Her bum slid exquisitely along the top of his thighs.

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione moaned into Tom’s ear as he began making long, hard strokes inside her. She placed her hands on his chest and began kissing his neck. She scraped her teeth along his jugular and he growled in response, holding her tighter to him as he increased his pace.

“Yes,” Hermione murmured into his ear. She bit his earlobe and Tom grunted his approval. Fuck, he was getting close. But he’d never left a partner unsatisfied and didn’t plan to start now. He reached a hand between them to tweak her nipple and Hermione keened in response. His other hand he grabbed her arse, rocking her over him as he slammed into her from below. It didn’t take long for her to begin shouting out through her climax. Tom gritted his teeth as her cunt clamped on him. Salazar, she felt fucking amazing.

“That’s it, love,” Tom breathed as she came down. She mewled in response and Tom slowed down, giving her time to recover, but never letting himself slip from her heat. Idly, he wondered how many times she could come in a twenty-four hour period? Something else they’d have to explore this week.

“Circe, Tom,” Hermione groaned and sat up slightly to look him in the face.

“Yes?” Tom asked, punctuating his words with a sharp snap of his hips. Her eyes fluttered and Tom did it again. She was supporting herself on his chest now, her fingers splayed against his slick skin.

“Feels so fucking good,” Hermione said breathlessly. She licked her bottom lip then bit it and Tom snapped his hips again. “Yes, that,” she moaned.

“What exactly feels so good, Hermione?” Tom asked slowly. He rolled his hips, giving her small, slow thrusts.

She moaned at the loss of the harder thrusts and Tom smirked at her, keeping his slow, soft pace.

“Hmmm?” Tom prompted after she hadn’t answered. “What feels good, Hermione?” Every time he said her name, she breathed just a little harder. Her reactions were so enticing that Tom thought he might be getting harder from them alone, never mind the fact that her pretty pussy wrapped so deliciously around his cock.

“You, Tom,” Hermione finally said. She opened her eyes, staring directly at him. “You feel fucking amazing. Your cock is like…” she trailed off when he rewarded her with another sharp snap from his hips. Her bum on his thighs clenched and Tom felt it in his cock as all of her inner muscles clenched around him.

“My cock is like what?” Tom asked, going back to the slow, soft rolls of his hips. Hermione tried rocking back against him, but his raised thighs prevented her much leverage.

“Like a fucking monument. Sweet Godric, someone should fucking clone it so everyone could feel how absolutely perfect it is,” she babbled. Tom grinned and began thrusting hard and fast, giving her exactly what she wanted. It wasn’t long before she was crying out through her climax once more. Tom finally allowed the total control he had over himself to waver as she clenched around him. He fucked her hard and fast until he too was shouting and spent himself. Hermione collapsed down onto his chest, breathing heavily.

“You really think my cock should be a monument?” Tom asked with a breathless laugh.

“No,” Hermione replied sleepily. “It’s mine. I don’t want anyone else to have it.” She wrapped her arms tighter around him and slipped into sleep. Tom smirked at that admission.


	6. Beginning

__

* * *

  _August 2002_

_Valbona Valley National Park, Albania_

* * *

Hermione groaned as she rolled out of bed. Tom wasn’t there again. She could never understand how he woke earlier than her each day, despite spending as much time as he did giving her incredible orgasm after incredible orgasm. She was exhausted and sore. They’d had sex in every position she knew of and a few she didn’t for the last week. The only time they spoke was in regards to sex or food. It had been a fabulous fucking week. They had only left the cabin in order to fuck on the porch. Tom had even suggested going out in the forest somewhere, but Hermione had nixed that idea. She didn’t like nature enough to want to fuck out in it.

She was still in some disbelief that she had agreed to allow Tom to return to London with her. It was an insane proposition, but since she hadn’t had any other ideas on what to do with him, she was stuck with it. _You could kill him_ , flitted through her mind again. Hermione shook her head. She wasn’t a murderer. And so far, Tom hadn’t done anything to warrant killing him. _And you like fucking him_ , she thought.

She stretched her arms overhead, trying to work out as many kinks as she could. She was sore and stretched and very well used. She might have to start working out if they continued on this way in London. They hadn’t discussed it, but Hermione had just assumed Tom would be living with her. He didn’t have an identity in either the Muggle world or the wizarding one. The Muggle one they could probably forge, but they’d have to figure out what to do in the wizarding world. It’s not like he could show up as Tom Riddle.

Although, since he hadn’t shaved in the last week, the amount of scruff disguised his face rather well. She really didn’t want him to wear a glamor. Not only would it obscure his beautiful features—she could finally admit to herself that she found him attractive—but she also worried she wouldn’t be able to read him as well. She wasn’t great at reading him now, but she was getting better every day.

Hermione slipped into the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower. She reeked of sex and needed to feel clean before they could take her portkey back. It was going to be interesting when she arrived in the Ministry. Generally, portkey travel was well regulated, but taking Tom with her was a risk. They’d just have to deal with it when it happened. Hermione assumed it would be a little extra paperwork and perhaps a fine. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

As she ran conditioner through her hair, Hermione tried to think of all the things that could go wrong once they got back to London. She was worried that she wasn’t going to be able to control him. He seemed happy enough this last week, and Hermione continued to hope that sex would be part of their relationship, but she wasn’t an idiot. Tom was a classic psychopath. Her breath caught at that thought. If Tom was truly a psychopath there was no way she could control him because he wouldn’t be able to form a bond with her. That was what she’d been hoping, after all, was that he would form a bond with her and through that bond, she could control his behavior? Perhaps he was a sociopath instead? But he seemed too in control, too manipulative to be a sociopath. Could someone be both a sociopath and a psychopath? Hermione didn’t know enough about psychology to know the answer to that question. Despite the hot water pouring down her back, she shivered. Tom was incredibly dangerous and she was going to have to be very careful when they arrived back in London later that day.

She exited the shower and dressed quickly before she began packing all of her things. She still had the beaded bag from the war, although it was quite battered now and had clearly seen better days. She could have made another one, but she had a fondness toward it, despite the fact that it still had a small blood stain on it from when Ron was splinched after they had infiltrated the Ministry. It reminded her that war was hard and it was her duty to help her society move past it. Not that her current job was much of a help with anything except getting her boss more tea. She sighed. She needed to figure out something about her career or surely she would die an early death.

“When does the portkey leave?” Tom asked. He had walked up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. Hermione took that as a good sign. As long as he was a sociopath with organized tendencies and not a psychopath, she thought she might have a slim possibility of controlling him.

“At two,” Hermione said. “We should be landing in London then at one.”

Tom glanced at the watch Hermione wore on her wrist, it was quarter til two. “Not enough time for a romp then.” He sounded almost sad about it and the relief that washed over Hermione was palpable.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until we get to my flat,” she said, as airily as possible. Tom kissed the side of her neck and Hermione found herself tilting her head to give him more access.

“I’m going to be fined,” Hermione said. “You need a new name.”

“And a glamor,” Tom murmured reminding her.

“I think the beard is enough,” she said as he licked his way from her shoulder to her ear. She moaned in response, already feeling heat pool in her abdomen. Merlin, she hoped he was a sociopath. Just a very organized and controlled one.

“I like Tom,” Tom replied.

“No you don’t, you hate it,” Hermione said. “It reminds you of your Muggle father. It’s been written about enough times.”

Tom’s hands tightened on her waist and Hermione thought for a moment he was going to be angry with her.

“I love it when it’s you screaming it,” Tom said. “How about Evans for the last name?”

Hermione shivered. Evans was a perfectly ordinary British name. It was also Harry’s mother’s maiden name. Should she say something to Tom? Surely, he couldn’t know that, could he?

“That’s fine,” Hermione gasped as one of Tom’s hands wandered from her waist to her breast and began rolling her nipple through her shirt and bra.

“Good,” Tom growled into her ear. “It’s time to leave.” He stepped away from her and Hermione felt the loss of his touch keenly. She closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself. She was about to assume responsibility for Tom Riddle and it scared her. It terrified her really, she just hoped she had enough control. That he was a sociopath and not a psychopath. That sex would be enough to bond him to her. That he would listen to her. She had a feeling that none of that was going to happen. 

* * *

  _August 2002_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

“Welcome back Miss Granger… and guest. There will be a small fine for the double use of the portkey as you only paid for one,” a bland Ministry official stated. “Please go to clerk two and fill out the appropriate forms. Welcome to London.”

Hermione led him away from arrivals to a long counter of clerks, the queued in the one with the script two over it and Hermione bounced from foot to foot. Tom could feel the agitation and worry pour off her. He slipped an arm around her waist. “It’s going to be fine,” he murmured in her ear. He very carefully kept the smirk off his face when she shivered at his words.

“It better be,” she hissed. “I’m not going to Azkaban for your sorry arse.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Tom replied. If the Ministry was anything like it was in his days—completely incompetent—they’d be out of there in a flash.

The queue wasn’t long, but the grey-haired witch before them struck up a personal conversation with the clerk. Tom sighed his annoyance while Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. It was fun to see her acting impatient with someone other than him. Having been trapped in a cabin with her for a week, he was itching to begin recruiting, but she looked so frazzled that he really just wanted to get her back to her flat so he could have her again. He’d never had as much sex as he had in the last week and it was quickly becoming addictive.

Finally, it was their turn and the clerk, a bored-looking man in his forties asked for their paperwork. Hermione handed it over and the man looked Tom up and down. Tom lifted his eyebrow at the other man, completely unintimidated.

“Name?”

“Tom Evans,” Tom replied smoothly.

The man wrote it down in his register. “That’ll be forty galleons.”

“Merlin, forty?” Hermione asked aghast. “The original portkey had only been twenty!”

Tom’s lips tightened, that did seem like a rather high fine. He looked at Hermione, suddenly worried she wouldn’t be able to pay it.

“Shouldn’t have brought home a boyfriend then, should you have?” the clerk said nastily. Tom narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Alright, alright,” Hermione grumped and dug through her handbag for the required galleons.

“What’s your name?” Tom asked and the man flipped his nameplate around so Tom could read it. Gordon Rocksalter. Tom had a good memory, he would definitely remember this insult.  

Hermione handed over the galleons and the man made a show of counting them. Then he stamped their papers and allowed them to leave.

“Godric, it’s fucking robbery,” Hermione muttered under her breath as they walked toward the lifts.

Tom nodded but didn’t say anything. He was taking in everything he could see. The dress was slightly different, more so for witches than wizards, Tom was glad to see. People bustled around importantly and a few even waved at Hermione. She offered a wave but didn’t speak to anyone.

“How many people do you know?” Tom asked after the fifth person waved at her.

Hermione laughed, “I’m a bit of a celebrity. Most of those people I don’t know.”

Tom considered her for a moment as they waited on a lift to arrive. He should have paid closer attention to that book about Harry Potter, perhaps he would be able to read it again. Although, he was sure as soon as he got to Abraxas Malfoy’s home he would be updated quickly on everything that had happened in the last fifty-three years.

* * *

_September 2002_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Wiltshire, England_

* * *

They arrived back in London on a Sunday and Hermione had to return to work at the Ministry the following day. She’d written out a list of twenty-five rules for Tom to follow. He had laughed himself silly when she handed them to him. She’d gone red in the face and had begun shouting until Tom undressed her slowly and slipped his hand between her legs. It had quieted her quickly enough. Rather it had quieted her in all the ways that mattered. It didn’t take long before she was coming on his hand and shouting his name for an entirely different reason. She’d been late to work, but Tom just smiled at her. He had a busy day ahead of himself.

The moment Hermione had left her flat, he too left and Apparated to Malfoy Manor. He’d only been a handful of times, but the Manor had always impressed him. It was a large Elizabethan style building and Tom had always secretly longed to live somewhere as impressive. A touch of his wand to the gates and they opened silently. It seemed that Abraxas had kept him in the wards. Tom couldn’t wait to see his old friend again, even if he would be an old man by now.

When he reached the manor, the house-elf who answered the door didn’t recognize him. Not surprising, fifty-three years was a long time, even in the wizarding world.

“I’m here to see your master,” Tom said stiffly.

The house-elf bowed and beckoned Tom to follow him. Tom did so, admiring that the Manor hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been there. When the house-elf led Tom to Abraxas’ father’s study, he furrowed his brow and realized that Abraxas’ father was surely dead by now. Which meant Abraxas had full command of the Malfoy fortune. Tom’s grin turned sly upon that realization.

The house-elf opened the door and led Tom inside.

“Who’s this then?” the man with long silvery-blond hair demanded. Tom was shocked it wasn’t Abraxas. He was much too young to be Abraxas. Perhaps his son?

“Tom Evans,” Tom said silkily. “Although, perhaps you know me by a different name. Tom Riddle. Or Lord Voldemort.”

“The Dark Lord is dead,” the blond man said flatly. “I watched his body fall to the ground with a thump myself. He’s been dead for over four years. And you are not him. Get out of my house.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “And who might you be? Where’s Abraxas? He’ll know me.”

“Abraxas is my father and he’s dead too. He’s been dead for ten years. And good riddance,” the man hissed.

“Where’s his portrait,” Tom demanded. He was quickly losing his temper and without access to the Malfoy funds, his plans would be for naught.

“I burned it,” Blondie replied.

Tom gasped. A pureblood burning his father’s portrait? It was almost unheard of and Tom couldn’t quite believe it. What had Abraxas done to make his son hate him so?

“If you really are Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort,” the blond man spat. “Then do me and everyone else in the world a favor and go Avada yourself.”

Tom pulled his wand on the blond man, leveling it at his chest. He wasn’t going to put up with such abuse.

“This is my fucking house,” the blond man said. “You can’t harm me in my own fucking house. I’ve had enough with Dark Lord’s. Get. Out.”

A wave of rage and embarrassment came over Tom. He gripped his wand tighter but lowered it finally. He was not going to allow this man to stop his plans. There were other wealthy purebloods from his time. They couldn’t all be dead.

“You will regret this, Malfoy,” Tom said as levelly as he could. He hoped his voice wasn’t trembling with the anger he felt. “You will regret this most heartily. I promise you that.”

Tom turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

“Not as much as I regret everything else,” the man whispered from behind him. Tom ignored him and left the Manor, flinging the front door shut with a bang. The moment he was able he Apparated away to Nott Park.

* * *

  _September 2002_

_Nott Park_

_Bedfordshire, England_

* * *

As light and airy as Malfoy Manor was, Nott Park was the exact opposite. It was dark gothic architecture and where Malfoy Manor was brilliantly restored, Nott Park looked to be falling apart. Thoros Nott had been almost as close of a friend as Abraxas Malfoy, although their personalities had been markedly different. Thoros had been hard and cold where Abraxas had loved a good joke. Thoros was a serious student and had been almost as brilliant as Tom when it came to their studies. He hoped that Thoros was still alive. He needed some good news today.

There wasn’t a house-elf who answered Tom’s knock on the front door of the dilapidated manor house. Tom frowned; perhaps Thoros wasn’t home? He knocked again, louder and heard someone shout from inside. The shout was too muffled to make out any words. So Tom waited.

A few moments later a weedy-looking, tall young man wrenched the door open and stared at him. He had Thoros’ dark brooding eyes, but none of his stout, stocky posture. The man was taller than Tom.

“Can I help you?” he said after a moment. Tom decided on a different approach here. This was obviously Thoros’ grandson.

“I’m looking for Thoros Nott,” Tom said politely. “Is he in?”

The weedy-looking boy laughed darkly. “He won’t ever be in again.”

Tom’s vexation rose, another of his friends, dead? What had happened in the last fifty-three years?

“Oh, when did he pass?” Tom inquired.

“He’s not dead,” the man said scathingly. “Got a life sentence in Azkaban. Don’t you read the papers? Why are you looking for him, anyway?”

Tom sucked in a breath, Azkaban was horrific. “What did he do?”

“Do? Are you serious? He was a bloody Death Eater. That’s what he did. Got caught red-handed at that stunt Harry Potter and his friends pulled at the Ministry back in fifth year. Then was seen fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts for the wrong side.” The man spoke scathingly of Thoros and Tom felt sad for his friend. That was two of his friends whose descendants seemed to hate them. An inkling began to form in his head, but he shoved it down, there was no use worrying over the past.

The man stepped back and invited Tom into the house. “Who are you again?”

“Tom Evans,” Tom said evenly. “Although perhaps you know me by one of my other names. Tom Riddle or Lord Voldemort.”

The man stopped and looked closely at Tom. “You do look a bit like him. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Tom grinned, “How are you related to Thoros?”

“He’s my father.”

That was better than Thoros being the man’s grandfather. “And your name is?”

“Theo Nott,” the man said and stuck out his hand for Tom to shake. Tom grasped it feeling hope blossom in his chest. Theo hadn’t thrown him out, perhaps he’d be open to listening to his ideas.

“Come on back to the study,” Theo said, turning from Tom and leading him deeper into the house. “I have some of my father’s old school things.”

Tom followed Theo through the rundown house. The portraits on the walls were all silent and half of the wallpaper was hanging off the walls.

“Were there war reparations?” Tom asked Theo as he stepped around a hole in the wooden floor.

Theo nodded, “Lots of them. Although since I was never charged as a Death Eater, we didn’t have as many to pay as the Malfoy’s did.”

Tom wondered what had happened to all of the Nott’s money then? Clearly, something for the house to be in as bad of shape as it was. He decided not to ask. Not yet anyway.

The study looked better than the hallways and Theo poured them both something to drink. They settled on a couple of armchairs before the empty fireplace when Theo rolled up the sleeve of his left arm.

“I wasn’t caught as a Death Eater, but it doesn’t mean I wasn’t one,” he grinned showing Tom the symbol blackened into his arm. It was a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. It was Tom’s own symbol, the one he’d designed for his Knights. The Death Eaters must be an offshoot of the Knights of Walpurgis.

“Tell me everything,” Tom demanded.

“First, let’s see if you really are Tom Riddle. And I want to know how you’re here looking my age,” Theo replied.

Theo picked up an old leather journal that Tom remembered from his school years. It wasn’t _the_ journal, but Tom had kept meticulous records of his experiments and had many such journals. He’d given some to Thoros while he went to Albania to look for the diadem.

“What journal number is that?” Tom asked.

“Twenty-three.”

“Ah, then that one will be full of notes for two potions. One which I believe I have tentatively named the Potion of Despair and the other that would bring a person back alive once they created a Horcrux.”

Theo grinned, “Very good. You are either an excellent impersonator or you truly are Tom Riddle.”

“Oh, I’m Tom Riddle,” Tom replied easily. “I happened to find a Time-Turner while in Albania a week ago. It brought me into the future and—”

“Left a copy of you in the past,” Theo finished. “It’s not a widely known phenomenon, traveling to the future, but it’s been theorized that if anyone did, it would certainly leave a copy of them in the past in order to not disrupt the timeline.”

“Exactly,” Tom smiled. Theo seemed to be as bright as Thoros was. This visit was going so much better than the one with Malfoy had.

“So, when are we getting the Death Eaters back together?” Theo asked.

Before Tom could answer, someone slammed through the front door of the house. “Theo!”

Theo rolled his eyes, “This is another Death Eater from my generation. He’ll find us soon enough. He’s a bit dramatic.”

“Theo! Where are you?” the voice shouted, coming closer to the study.

The door of the study banged open as loudly as the front door of the Manor had.

“There you are. My father’s in a rotten fucking mood,” a blond-haired man, who looked almost exactly like the Malfoy that Tom had just left, grumbled as he slipped into a chair beside Theo. “Who’s this then?”

Theo smirked, “Draco Malfoy, meet Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. My lord, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, “Is this a joke, Theo? The Dark Lord is dead. Has been for over four years.”

Tom smirked, Draco sounded remarkably like his father. “I assure you, Draco. I am Tom Riddle. I seem to have had a bit of a time travel incident. In that, I came forward to the future.”

“Oh,” Draco looked dumbfounded.

Tom turned back to Theo, “I believe you were going to tell me everything?”

Theo grinned and nodded. He began speaking about all that had taken place in the last fifty-three years.


	7. Reality

__

* * *

 

_September 2002_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Hermione trudged home after a brutal first day back to work after her long vacation. She wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Tom either, but her boss had been an unmitigated terror all day long. Dealing with Tom wouldn’t be nearly that bad. She could only hope, at least.

Entering her flat, she realized it was dark and quiet. Hermione furrowed her brow and flicked her wand to turn on the lights.

“Tom?”

No reply. Instantly, both panic and rage fill her. Panic because Tom isn’t where he’s supposed to be. Has something happened to him? What if he’s hurt? And rage because she knows deep down that he hasn’t followed her instructions. He’s gone off to find some of his former Death Eater’s, she’s sure of it.

Fuck!

What should she do? Try to find him? Hermione felt frozen with indecision. She had no idea where Tom would go or who would accept him. He spoke of Abraxas Malfoy, so perhaps to Malfoy Manor but that was not a place that Hermione would be welcome at. And if Tom somehow managed to convince Lucius or Draco Malfoy into believing he was who he said he was… she didn’t let that thought finish. She had to find him. But how?

Hermione ran through her flat, quickly determining that Tom was indeed gone. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

She did the only thing that she could think of doing; Floo-calling Harry and Ron, who still lived in Grimmauld Place despite the fact that Harry and Ginny were married. Hermione wasn’t even sure she’d catch them, but the panic was rising fast and she felt like she had to do something. She had to act—now—before this got out of hand.

“Harry! Ron!” she knelt down at her fireplace, her head stuffed through the flames as she peered around the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, hoping one of them was nearby.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?” Ginny’s feet appeared and she kneeled so Hermione could see her face.

“Are Harry or Ron there, Gin? I’ve got an issue I’m hoping they can help with.”

“Er, yes, hang on…” Ginny trailed off as she stood and walked out of the room.

Hermione tapped her fingers against her hearth as she waited for one of the boys to come through. They weren’t really boys, not anymore, but she’d always think of them as her boys.

“Hermione?” Harry asked from the doorway. She could just see Ron standing behind him.

“Hey, Harry. Are you free for a moment? I was hoping you could come through.”

“Yeah, sure. Didn’t you just get home? What’s wrong?” Harry’s voice got louder as he moved closer to the fireplace.

“I’ll tell you when you get here,” Hermione said and moved out of her fireplace so Harry and Ron could Floo through.

A few moments and a cloud of soot later, Ron and Harry were in her flat. Hermione’s panic decreased just a little. They would help her—they would have to help her.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked. His voice was carefully flat and Hermione felt her heart lurch. She knew that Ron still held out hope for them, but it was never going to happen. She was determined of that, if nothing else.

“I think I fucked up,” Hermione stated plainly.

Harry and Ron both looked surprised at this statement. “Let’s sit down,” Harry suggested and they arranged themselves on the sofa and armchair in the sitting room. “Now, start from the beginning.”

Hermione nodded but didn’t say anything for a minute. How in the world would she begin this story? It was insane.

“Come on, ‘Mione. I don’t have all day,” Ron finally snapped.

“Right, okay. Well, you know how I went on vacation? To Albania? I sort of met someone…” Ron grimaced.

“I don’t need to hear about your vacation conquests, ‘Mione!”

Hermione felt herself redden. _Oh, Merlin, this was not going well._

“That’s not what I meant!” Hermione protested. She left out the part that she was, in fact, sleeping with Tom. “I met someone because he happened to be staying in the same cabin.”

“Same cabin? What? Were you sharing a cabin with a stranger?” Harry interrupted.

“No! It’s hard to explain, but about a week into the vacation he showed up in my cabin. Thinking it was his cabin. With a Time-Turner in his hands.”

“Who is he?” Ron asked.

“He’s from the past. And was in Albania…” Hermione led. Hoping one of them, Harry at least would catch on to what she was saying.

They both stared at her blankly.

She groaned. “Somehow Tom Riddle of 1949 got ahold of a Time-Turner and used it to come forward in time.”

“What? How would that even work?” Harry asked. “I still have all my memories, I killed him. Tom Riddle is dead.”

“One of them is a copy,” Hermione whispered. “Either the one left behind is a copy, destined to follow the same track to not disrupt the past. Or the one that came forward is a copy, free to do as he wills.”

“Bullshit,” Ron spat. “This is bullshit, Hermione. Someone is fucking with you, you know that? You’re too gullible. Too fucking naive.” He shook his head and Hermione felt her heart clench, even as anger flooded her veins.

“I’m not! I swear to you that this is the truth!” Hermione said. “Tom Riddle is back and he’s here and the worst part is… I seem to have sort of lost him.”

“Lost him!?” Harry fairly screamed. “Why didn’t you fucking kill him? He’s a murderer! Even in 1949, he’d already murdered people! Are his Horcruxes back too?”

“I-I don’t know,” Hermione said. She refused to cry, even as a lump formed in her throat and her eyes seemed to be extra wet. “I don’t know why I didn’t kill him. I was hungover and he was hungover and we jus—”

“Just what? Fucked?” Ron accused.

Hermione’s face heated and she dropped her head into her hands.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, Merlin! You did! You fucked Tom Riddle! You fucking slag! Yo—”

“That’s enough, Ron!” Harry snapped.

“I’m sorry!” Hermione said. “I don’t know how it happened. I thought I could control him. That I could bring him back and control him. You know I never did end up killing anyone, even during the war. I thou—”

“Well, he’s here now. We can kill him now,” Harry said coldly. “We’ll track him down and kill him again before the rest of the wizarding world gets word.”

Hermione nodded but didn’t say anything. She knew she wouldn’t be able to kill Tom, but she was fucking terrified that he was currently loose in Britain.

Just then the fireplace went green and Tom Riddle stepped out of it. Followed closely by Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy.

All of the confusion and fear Hermione had been feeling seemed to disappear when she saw Tom’s smug face. She shot to her feet and stuck her finger right into Tom’s chest.

“Where the hell were you?” she growled. “I was worried sick! I told you not to leave!” Tom glared at her and gripped her wrist tightly.

“You don’t own me, Hermione.”

“No, but you agreed to _my_ rules,” she hissed at him. She yanked on her hand, but he held her tight, almost crushingly tight. He yanked on her hand, pulling her into his chest and snaked his other hand around her waist. She could feel his length pressed against her belly, hard and angry. Apparently, just how she liked him because a flare of arousal slid into her belly, igniting her core.

She should have been paying attention to what was going on around them. Her friends had leapt to their feet as she and Tom argued, pointing their wands at Tom, Nott, and Malfoy.

“I don’t answer to you, Hermione,” Tom said again, low and menacing. Hermione’s heart rate picked up and she used her free hand to push at his chest.

“No, but you do owe me, Tom. You owe me and you know it. Best not forget that,” she spat.

“Oh, I’ll owe you alright,” Tom growled and pushed her waist harder into him, pressing his hips against her. Showing her exactly what he planned to give her.

* * *

_September 2002_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Tom had been angry his entire life. It was like he was born with that emotion as his zero. On any given day, Tom was angry. He was always angry. But the anger that coursed through him at that moment made his head reel. He wanted to murder her. He wanted to fuck her. Most of all, he wanted to own her. He was livid and planned to show her exactly what she could expect from deciding to defy him in front of his followers.

He had spent hours with Theo and Draco, learning everything he could about the last fifty-three years and then learning what the current political climate was. He had plans. Big plans. And he wasn’t about to let the very sexy piece of arse poking him in the chest right now ruin them. He had an image to cultivate and protect. How would it look to his followers if he let himself get bossed around by a witch?

He snarled at her and pushed her back, drawing his wand at the same time. But she was quicker than he was or had expected something. The next thing he knew, his wand was flying through the air and sailing into Hermione’s hand. He glared at her and balled his fists, making a single step toward her.

She shook her head and smirked at him.

The black haired man behind Hermione then laughed. “Still your weakness, eh, Tom?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Tom asked belligerently. He was beyond anger and reason now. Now he just wanted to fight. Or fuck. Or both.

“Oh, me?” the black haired man smirked at him. Tom decided he hated that smirk. “I’m your murderer. Killed you myself. What was it four years ago, Hermione? You are supposed to be dead.” The look in those green eyes was as cold as Tom had ever seen.

It was his turn to smirk. “And yet, I’m not.”

“Harry,” Hermione hissed and the answer fell into place in Tom’s head. This was the famed Harry Potter. He gave the man a once over and dismissed him. He was not going to be a threat to Tom. The ginger standing next to Harry just glared at them all, but especially at Draco.

“Leave,” Tom said to Theo and Draco.

“Of course,” Draco acquiesced. “Let us know if you need anything, my lord.”

Tom’s smirk widened into a grin when Ginger flinched at the honorific. Theo clapped Tom’s shoulder and with a flash of green, both were gone, back through the Floo.

“You too,” Tom directed to Potter and the ginger.

“We’re not going anywhere,” the ginger said, speaking up for the first time. “You may have seduced or brainwashed ‘Mione, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have friends. Friends who will protect her from the likes of you!”

Hermione rolled her eyes and Tom’s lips twitched. “I can handle myself, Ron.”

_Ah, so the ginger was Ron Weasley, the third part of the so-called ‘Golden Trio.’_

“Really?” Harry asked. “Can you handle him, too? Or is that the exact reason you invited Ron and me here? To handle him for you?”

“Harry,” Hermione began, but he cut her off before she could say more.

“No, Hermione. You should have sent him back or killed him when you realized who he was! He’s dangerous! And if you won’t kill him, I will.”

Tom snorted, “Unlikely. But you should leave… unless you want to watch as I fuck Hermione into the fucking wall.”

Hermione gasped and her eyes widened and Tom knew that meant she was getting turned on. She always did like it when he talked dirty to her.

Ron, the ginger, turned almost puce at this pronouncement. “So you are fucking him!”

Hermione whirled around to her friend. “Ron, what I do is none of your business. You and Harry should both leave. I can handle him.” She showed them both wands, still tucked firmly into her hand and Tom felt his blood boil. Not only had she embarrassed him in front of his new followers, but now she was gloating about it to her friends. Hermione would have to pay for this.

“Fine, we’ll go,” Potter conceded. “But this isn’t finished, ‘Mione.”

“I know,” Hermione nodded; moments later, Tom and she were alone.

Tom stalked toward her, backing her up into the wall opposite the fireplace. “You won’t disobey me again. Nor dismiss me in front of my followers.”

“Your followers, Tom? You sound like a fucking Dark Lord already! Besides,” Hermione cocked her head to the side and smirked at him. “I still have your wand.”

Tom glared at her. As angry as he was, his cock was throbbing in his trousers. He was almost desperate to be inside her. He lunged for his wand and she tossed them both over his shoulder, out of reach to them, then wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I thought you planned on fucking me?” she whispered into his ear.

“Not until you promise not to disrespect me like that again,” Tom threatened.

“Disrespect you?” Hermione shouted, pushing away from him. But he’d backed her into the wall and there wasn’t anyplace else she could go. Tom refused to step back from her. “I told you not to leave. And yet, you disobeyed _me_! And then I find you in the company of a couple of junior Death Eaters! People who hate me, Tom. People who would rather see me dead than alive.”

She pulled up her sleeve, shoving her scar that read Mudblood into his face.

“This! I got this on the floor of Draco Malfoy’s drawing room. While he looked on. Impassively. How do you think it made me feel to see him in my home! In my safe space! I’ll fucking tell you, I feel violated. I feel like I brought someone into my life who doesn’t care about me, doesn’t respect me, and only cares about his own fucking power!” She was screaming by the end and Tom felt his heart stutter in his chest.

“You know what I am, Hermione,” Tom reminded her softly. He ran a finger down her soft cheek as she breathed heavily, working to control her emotions.

“I do,” she said. “I knew what you were, but I had hoped I could show you the foolishness of your previous ways. You are so bloody brilliant, Tom. You could be so much more than a despotic, megalomaniac Dark Lord. You could do so much…” she trailed off and looked up at him with her big brown eyes.

Tom had never had anyone believe in him the way she seemed to. He’d never been close enough to another person—emotionally—the way he seemed so drawn to her. He hated that she’d been tortured by one of his followers—hated seeing that word cut into her arm. A few weeks with her and his blood prejudices were out the window. She was everything.

He wanted to feel sick about cavorting with a Mudblood, but he couldn’t. She was so powerful, so good, and so trusting that Tom found himself wanting to earn that trust. Wanting to be the only person she could or would turn to—wanting to be the only person for her.

He cupped her cheek and dipped his head, his lips just barely touching hers. “I don’t care about your blood,” he whispered. “I don’t care that you’re a Muggleborn. I only care that you are mine.” And then he kissed her. He wanted to pour all of his thoughts and feelings into the kiss, make it as passionate as he could, but it soon turned heated.

In moments, she had her legs wrapped around his hips and he was pressing his entire body into hers. Her soft curves felt divine and he swiftly disrobed them. A little rearranging and suddenly he was sheathed inside her tight warmth.

“Fucking perfect,” Tom mumbled against her skin as he kissed along her shoulder. Her cunt gripped him so beautifully. She had her head tossed back against the wall behind her and her fingernails were digging into the skin of his shoulders. He fucking loved it. Everything about her was flawless.

“Tom,” she whined breathlessly, her heels digging into his arse as she pulled him closer to her body. “Please, Tom! Harder!”

Tom gasped and renewed his efforts, slamming into her until she fell off the cliff of her orgasm with a scream.

“Mine,” Tom growled into her lips as he chased his climax. “Mine. Forever mine,” he groaned into her as his balls tightened and he shot his load deep inside her.

He stood there for several long moments, catching his breath as Hermione clung to him. Her neck was buried into his shoulder, her breaths hot puffs along his skin, making him shiver.

“Yours,” she whispered and Tom couldn’t stop the smirk that took over his face.

“Mine,” he agreed and tilted her head back, sealing the deal with a searing kiss. He loved that she stood up to him. He loved that she wasn’t afraid of him. He loved seeing her in her wild abandonment and he loved that she gave herself fully to him. Tom was not someone who loved. He didn’t love her. He just loved everything about her. She was his.


	8. Splinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Much thanks to RachaelLA26 for her beta work on this chapter! If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff or Facebook at Shan Crochetaway!**

 

* * *

_September 2002_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

“No, it’s really not fine!” Harry hissed at her. “He’s the fucking Dark Lord, Hermione! You can’t think you can control him.”

Hermione sighed and ran her hands through her hair in frustration. She and Harry had been having the same argument for a week and a half. They were currently in his office at the Ministry as she didn’t rate an office, being not much more than a glorified secretary. She sat in his visitor's chair; they were supposed to be having lunch but their food lay forgotten on his desk between them.

“It’s less about control, and more about molding him into a better person, Harry. Showing him a little love and giving him different choices. Different options.” Hermione tried to explain how she knew it was possible, but the right words just didn’t want to come out of her mouth. She was getting more and more frustrated.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re taking the piss, you know that? He was conceived with a love potion, he can’t love anyone or anything.”

“That is just conjecture and has never been proven,” Hermione hissed. “That’s Dumbledore bullshit and you know it.”

“Dumbledore was a great man,” Harry began, but Hermione cut him off before he could get comfortable in his ‘Dumbledore was a great man’ speech.

“Come off it, Harry! Dumbledore was just as manipulative as Voldemort! Probably more so! At least with Voldemort, his followers knew exactly what they were getting in to. Dumbledore hoodwinked you for six fucking years and then died and left you with an impossible quest.”

“An impossible quest that I accomplished, Hermione!” Harry shouted.

“Really? Was it all you, Harry James Potter? You had no fucking help from anyone else?” Hermione snapped.

“Oh, come off it. You know, you were very helpful. But still, Dumbledo—”

“If you say, ‘a great man,’ I’m going to leave,” Hermione hissed. “What about what Dumbledore did to Snape? Hmm? That wasn’t all that ‘great’ of him, was it? And what about you? Leaving you with the Dursleys? You can’t honestly tell me that was for _your_ best interests was it?”

“But the blood—”

“How are you an Auror and still this damned naïve, Harry? There are other warding spells, other ways to hide someone. Dumbledore left you with abusive Muggles on purpose. Hell, he even knew you were living in a fucking cupboard! And he let it happen. Why do you think that is?”

“This isn’t about Dumbledore,” Harry said quietly.

“No, but you brought it up. So we’re going to fucking talk about it. You see everything as so black and white, Harry. The world just doesn’t work that way. Dumbledore was not the white king, standing on a shiny hill. He was grey at best, if not outright black. He left you in an abusive situation because it suited _his_ purposes. It left you vulnerable and hungry for someone to look up to. Don’t tell me it didn’t,” Hermione said. “I know this is a hard truth to hear about your idol, about your ‘great man’, but he was not a good man, Harry. Not even close. Good people don’t let children get abused.”

“The Dursley’s weren’t _that_ bad,” Harry started.

“Really? Weren’t they? Summer between first and second year, they locked you in your fucking room for months! They only let you out to go to the bathroom and fed you once a day! That’s worse than neglect, Harry. That is straight-up abuse!” Hermione was panting now, she was so angry on his behalf. She hated how much Harry looked up to Dumbledore. Hated more, how he couldn’t see how similar Dumbledore and Tom really were. Tom didn’t see it either but it seemed clear as fucking day to Hermione. Another reason she thought she could influence Tom in a good way. A way that wouldn’t lead him to become a Dark Lord, again.

Harry just stared at her—he didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he hung his head, covering his face with his hands, with his shoulders shaking and Hermione immediately felt like a git. She hadn’t meant to upset Harry.

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly, coming around the desk to rub his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” Harry sniffled for a moment, then wiped his eyes and looked up at her.

“No, I’m sorry. You’re right. The Dursley’s were horrific to me. I didn’t deserve that.”

“No, of course, you didn’t,” Hermione said. “I’m just trying to get you to see that we have a chance to make Tom a better person than he was the first time around. Not only that; he’s so bloody brilliant, Harry. Wizarding society could use someone who has his leadership abilities coupled with his brilliance.”

“And that’s where you lose me,” Harry shook his head. “I can’t believe that you think you can actually change him. People don’t change unless they want to. And Tom Riddle? He’s already a murderer, he’s not going to change over a piece of trim.” Harry at least had the grace to blush. “No offense to you, of course.”

Hermione glared at him. “And if I’m more than ‘a piece of trim’ to him?” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him, immediately feeling defensive.

“He can’t love, Hermione. He’s never shown the capacity for it in the past. Why would he start now?”

“And who showed him love in the past?” Hermione asked, turning back to face Harry. “How do you know he can’t love if nobody ever loved him?”

“Bellatrix,” Harry suggested.

Hermione scoffed. “That was adoration at best. Not truly love. And despite that, Bellatrix was certifiably insane _before_ she became a Death Eater and spent a decade and a half in Azkaban.”

“It doesn’t matter. The only way this turns out well is if he dies. Sooner rather than later.”

“Harry…”

“No! Hermione, he’s a menace! And to be honest, I’m surprised that you don’t see it. You’re a Muggleborn! He hates Muggleborns.”

“I think it’s more that he’s attracted to power and—”

“No! Stop! Now you are making excuses for him. It’s disgusting! I can’t support this.” Harry shook his head. “You know I can’t support this. I don’t even know why we’re discussing it.”

“Because you’re my best friend,” Hermione whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You will if this doesn’t end. I understand if you can’t do it. I’ll kill him for you. I’ve already done it once.” Harry shrugged.

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “No, I can’t let you do that. I have to believe he’s a better person. That I can make him see reason.”

“I hate to say this, and I never thought I would say this about you, Hermione, but you’re an idiot. You can’t change him. People don’t change.”

“I disagree,” Hermione said sadly.

Harry frowned at her. “I have work to do.”

“Right,” Hermione said and left his office. Her heart was breaking at the loss of Harry’s friendship. He hadn’t said it, but she knew he was done with her.

* * *

  _September 2002_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Hermione returned home that evening with a heavy heart. All she wanted was to curl up in her bed and have a good cry. She came home to Tom entertaining Malfoy and Nott. Again. They were his most constant companions and Hermione was starting to get sick of them. She sighed heavily and heaved her door shut, dropping her handbag on the table in the hall.

Malfoy’s laugh was as annoying as ever and Hermione wished she could curl up in her bed. She didn’t even want to see Tom.

“Hermione?” Tom asked from the sitting room. She’d walked straight past that door and to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. If she was going to have to put up with Malfoy and Nott, she was at least going to have a drink or two.

She didn’t respond to Tom and took a long sip of her wine instead.

“There you are,” Tom said. He was using his ‘polite’ voice. The one he used in front of his followers. Hermione hated the term ‘followers.’ It screamed of Dark Lord’s and she wasn’t sure she was up to having that fight with him today.

She turned to face him and he took one look at her face and turned on his heel. Hermione raised her eyebrow but didn’t follow him. Instead, she drank more wine. A moment later she heard the Floo go twice and Tom returned to the kitchen.

“Where’d your friends go?” Hermione asked.

“I told them to leave. You clearly need a night without entertaining anyone.” Hermione snorted into her glass.

“Are you telling me I look like shit, Tom?” Tom frowned at her but didn’t rise to the bait.

“What happened today?” Hermione returned the frown and drank more wine.

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head over,” she responded.

Tom entered the kitchen fully and pulled the wine glass out of Hermione’s hand. “Well, obviously something happened. Let’s get you out of these clothes at least. Maybe a bath?”

Hermione nodded. She felt like crying, but she knew that would freak Tom out, so she kept her tears to herself. He was being so nice to her. She wasn’t used to him being so nice to her. He led her out of the kitchen and to the only bedroom. Their bedroom, since she’d taken Tom home with her from Albania. It seemed bizarre that her life had changed so drastically in four short weeks, but it had.

Tom undressed her slowly and climbed into the bath first, setting her in front of him, her back to his chest. He waved his wand to fill the tub with warm water and Hermione felt her body relaxing inch by inch. Tom ran his hands over her, starting at her hands, giving her a gentle massage. His hands went everywhere, squeezing and massaging all of the stress from her body. She melted into him, completely relaxed by the time his touches became more heated. He spent a long time cupping her breasts, toying with her nipples.

By the time he finally slipped his hand down her stomach, toward her core, Hermione was panting and aching with the need to be filled.

“Tom,” she gasped as he finally, _finally_ , placed a finger at her clit, swirling it around. Hermione bucked her hips, making the water in the bath splash out onto the floor.

Hermione sobbed when Tom slid a finger into her tight channel and she had something to clench her aching cunt around. “More!” she demanded and Tom obliged immediately by adding another finger and grinding the palm of his hand onto her clit.

“You are a fucking goddess,” Tom murmured into her ear. “Never forget that.”

It was enough to send Hermione careening over the edge of her orgasm. She undulated her hips, trying to force as much friction as she could out of Tom’s hand. The moment she settled, Tom spun her around and she found herself facing him, straddling his hips.

“Now I want to see you come undone,” Tom murmured as she slowly sank down onto his rock hard cock.

Hermione balanced her hands on his shoulders as Tom helped her establish a rhythm, his hands on her waist. He was looking up into her face and Hermione found the emotion in his eyes to be too raw, so she closed hers. Tom tweaked one of her nipples, before smoothing his hand up her skin and cupping her cheek.

“Look at me,” he demanded and Hermione opened her eyes to see his deep blue ones staring into her soul.

Tom was panting with the effort. He had one hand clutching her waist, while the other tunneled through her hair, holding the back of her neck tightly. Hermione had never had anyone touch her there and found that she fucking loved it. She became wetter when his fingers tightened and her movements stuttered for a moment.

“Oh, do you like this?” Tom hissed, tightening his fingers again on the back of her neck.

“Yes!” Hermione hissed and slipped one of her hands down through the cooling water to begin touching her clit. “Yes. I fucking love it.” And she did. She felt like a goddess.

Tom growled and pumped his hips harder, meeting her thrust for thrust. Hermione was bouncing on top of him and it was all she could do to keep the tempo when her climax flared and washed over her.

“Tom!” she screamed as her body hurtled over the cliff.

Tom held her upright as he pounded into her from below chasing his own climax.

“Fuck,” he panted into her ear when he came a few moments later. “Fuck, you’re so fucking good. Such a good girl.”

Hermione whinged at the compliment, feeling her pussy tighten around Tom’s deflating cock.

Tom chuckled lowly. “My, my, we have learned some things tonight.”

* * *

  _September 2002_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Three days later and it was, at last, the weekend. Hermione planned to not even leave her flat for two whole days. She couldn’t wait. When she came home from work, Tom was waiting for her with a surprise. On the coffee table in front of him was a small stack of extremely old looking books.

“What are these?” Hermione asked, stepping into the room and toeing off her shoes at the same time.

“Some research I thought you’d be interested in,” Tom said from the sofa. He had a bottle of wine on the table before him and two glasses. He handed Hermione one as she tucked a leg beneath her and sat down next to him. She picked up the first book, reading the title.

“ _Druidic Sex Magics and How to Perform Them_? What is this, Tom?”

“What do you know of sex magic?” Tom asked.

“Not much. Except that it’s generally classified as a Dark magic,” Hermione responded and took a sip of her wine. She savored the taste on her tongue, slipping her eyes closed for a moment. She missed Tom roll his eyes at her Dark magic classification.

“There is no Light or Dark magic, Hermione,” Tom said patiently. “Only power and those who are strong enough and smart enough to grasp it.”

Hermione lifted her eyebrow at him but said nothing. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew that some magic was classified as Dark without truly being Dark. Although there were other magics that truly were Dark, whether Tom wanted to agree with that assessment or not. She was willing to withhold judgment on sex magic until she’d seen it for herself.

“And what do you know of sex magic?” Hermione asked quietly. She never asked about Tom’s past, about what he was like in 1949. Part of her was desperate to know, but judging by his skills in the bedroom there was a very large part of her that didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know that he had settled on her because she was the person who could help him the best in the future. That if it weren’t for that snag, Tom would never choose her.

“I know about it in theory,” Tom said. “I haven’t ever practiced it.” He shrugged and Hermione felt her heart unclench in her chest. She didn’t know why it was so important to her, but suddenly, the fact that Tom had never done this with anyone else, really mattered.

“Right, and what’s the point of it?” Hermione asked.

“The point? Power, of course.”

“Power? What like a more powerful orgasm? I don’t get it.” Hermione shook her head.

“No, magic is energy, right? Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it just is. But like a battery can store energy, right? That’s essentially what our magical cores are: batteries storing energy. Sex magic builds up those energy stores, allowing you to store more magic in your core. Giving you a bigger battery.”

Hermione blinked at him. Tom Riddle had just explained sex magic in almost entirely Muggle terms.

“What?” Tom asked.

“You sound like a Muggle,” Hermione smirked at him. She laughed when he glared at her. “It’s not a bad thing. Just… unexpected.”

“Are you interested?” Tom gestured to the book in Hermione’s lap. She looked down at it for a moment.

“Maybe. Did you have something in mind?”

Tom smirked then. “I do. We can start slow. But the end result would be that you have more magic. So tomorrow, concentrate when performing your spells, they should all come easier for you.”

Hermione nodded. She wasn’t sure if she quite believed him. But it was the weekend after a hard long week and she was looking to blow off a little steam.

“Here, or?”

“I’ve got it set up in the bedroom,” Tom said as he stood and held his hand out to her.

“Confident, were you?” Hermione asked.

“Always,” Tom murmured as he led her out of the room.

The bedroom was full of candles, some floating, others coating every surface. It was gorgeous and rather romantic. Tom had drawn a circle on the floor, moving the bed away from the wall to place it in the center of the circle. A small bag of salt sat nearby.

“I’ll close the circle once we’re both in it. Normally, during sex, your magic leaks out of you. The circle will contain it. Then at the point of orgasm, we’ll have to utter the spell.”

“Which is?” Hermione asked as she took in all the changes to her bedroom. Mirrors had been placed on several of the walls, including one on the ceiling. Tom caught her looking and explained.

“The mirrors will help direct the magic. The spell is _Revertere_.”

“Really? Return? That’s the spell?” Hermione laughed.

“I didn’t say it was complicated,” Tom murmured, gesturing for her to get inside the circle. “It’s best it’s not complicated. Would you be able to say a long chanting spell as you are orgasming?”

“I guess not,” Hermione shrugged and watched as he poured the salt along the circle he’d already made with chalk. She felt the invisible wall of magic snap up around them the moment it closed. It seemed to grow warmer and she had no idea if it was because it actually had, or if the look Tom was giving her had warmed her skin.

“Strip,” Tom commanded.

Hermione lifted an eyebrow but began removing her robes. Then she took off her shirt and skirt, all the while, Tom stood unmoving—watching her. Finally, she stood naked before him.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he muttered as he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. The feeling of his clothes on her skin should not have been as sexy as it was. He bent his head and kissed her firmly, one hand creeping up her spine to grasp the nape of her neck. Hermione thought she might melt from that move alone. Slowly, Tom guided her back to the bed. He pushed her down on it before he too stripped. Then he flipped her over to her stomach and Hermione found she was facing one of the mirrors. Tom climbed on top of the bed, straddling her waist. He moved her hair over her shoulder and began planting kisses down her spine. It was more erotic than Hermione would have thought.

She really liked what she saw in the mirror. Tom’s naked body as he worshipped her’s was almost too much for her to bear watching. His muscles rippled in the candlelight and Hermione gasped when he bit her bum.

“Tom,” she whined as he slipped past her center and began kissing the back of her thighs. This was almost making love and she wasn’t sure she would be able to handle it. When she caught his eye in the mirror, she found her hips moving involuntarily, searching for friction from the bed beneath her.

Tom smirked and shook his head, finally reaching a finger forward and sliding it through her folds, testing her readiness.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking ready,” Hermione said as she bucked her hips, trying to get him to slip his finger inside her.

“Good,” Tom murmured and he pulled her up to her knees, then pushed her legs apart until she was straddling his lap. Her back to his chest. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and teased her entrance with the head of his cock.

“Please,” Hermione cried when Tom did nothing more than tease. She tried to sink down on him, but he held her fast and began tweaking first one nipple, and then the other. All the while, staring into her eyes in the mirror. Hermione didn’t know what to do with her hands, she was in such a position that she couldn’t reach much of Tom. She tried to reach a hand down to her clit to provide some relief, but Tom batted it away.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Tom murmured. “Or I’ll tie you up.”

Hermione’s breathing increased. So far, she and Tom had kept their sex pretty vanilla, but she couldn’t deny that she had a bit of a bondage kink. And a praise kink, as he’d found out last night.

“Oh, did you want to be tied up, Hermione?” Tom whispered into her ear. Hermione moaned and rolled her head onto his shoulder. She was desperate for some friction, her cunt was aching to be filled. “I’ll need an answer on that,” Tom prompted tweaking one of Hermione’s nipples harder.

“Yesss,” Hermione hissed.

Tom snapped his fingers and Hermione soon found her hands were tied together and hauled above her head to be held from a hook that appeared in her ceiling. She gasped at the sight of her body stretched so deliciously. The ropes were almost too tight and Hermione rolled her shoulders.

“Alright?” Tom asked.

Hermione nodded.

“Safe word?”

“Lamp,” Hermione said the first thing that came to her mind.

Tom chuckled. Then he brought her hips down swiftly and Hermione found herself filled so quickly she screamed.

“So good,” Tom moaned into her shoulder as he set a slow rolling rhythm. “You are so good,” he praised her.

Hermione keened in response, knowing she was getting impossibly, almost disgustingly wet from the praise. The sound his cock made as it pushed its way inside her cunt was indecent. She felt herself redden when it turned her on even more.

“Oh, good girl,” Tom murmured into her ear. “Now I know you want to come, but we only get one shot at this, so you’re going to have to wait until I’m ready.”

Hermione nodded and bit her lip. Tom rubbed his hands along her flanks, slowing his pace, even more, allowing Hermione to come back from the brink for a moment.

“Do you like it, Hermione? Being full of my cock?”

“Fuck, yes,” Hermione groaned. He rewarded her by a particularly hard thrust, the head of his cock hitting her cervix.

“Good. I like filling you up,” Tom murmured. “I’m going to fill you with my come soon. Would you like that?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione cried as Tom began tweaking her nipples again.

“Good girl,” Tom crooned into her ear.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” Hermione warned just before her walls began tightening around his cock.

Tom sped up his thrusts, trying to match her pace. “Now!”

“ _Revertere_!” they shouted at the same time, as each experienced their own orgasm. Hermione practically passed out from the intensity of hers. Tom proved his point by filling her with wave after wave of his come. Another snap of his fingers and Hermione was released from their bonds and they collapsed onto the bed.

Hermione passed out for a few minutes and when she woke back up, Tom was kissing her wrists and murmuring healing spells into the rope burn there. She hadn’t even realized she’d hurt herself.

“Did it work?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” Tom grinned wolfishly at her.

Hermione smiled and fell back asleep.  

* * *

  _October 2002_

_Nott Park_

_Bedfordshire, England_

* * *

“Granger, eh?” Draco prompted. They were seated in the only decent room in Theo’s house, the library. Tom was nursing a firewhisky and cast a cool eye over the Malfoy heir.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Tom asked, lifting one eyebrow. Draco grimaced.

“Better you than me, mate.”

Theo sucked in a breath just before Tom flicked his wand, sending a strong stinging hex at Draco.

“Let’s make one thing _perfectly_ clear,” Tom said in a deadly quiet voice. “I am much more interested in consolidating power—and Granger is powerful, magically at least—than I am in ridding the world of Muggles and Muggleborns.”

Draco gulped in terror at the sheer anger rolling off of his lord. Tom almost smirked, but he had a point to make and wanted to be sure that Draco was exactly aware of what that point was.

“Now, you and Theo can either get on board with that plan, or I’ll kill you. You see, you already know too much, there is no backing out now. And Granger? She is off-limits to either of you. She is mine and I protect my own.”

“Of course, my lord. We wouldn’t dream of speaking against you _or_ Granger,” Theo said quickly.

“Right,” Draco nodded. “I like living, and I too, want power. If Granger is it for you, I’m good with that.”

“Good.” Tom nodded at them both and changed the subject. He was doing a lot of things differently this time around, not least of which letting his followers in on the secret of his Horcruxes. “Have either of you come to any conclusion on the diary or the ring?”

“We’ve searched everywhere, my lord,” Draco said, straightening as he launched into his full report. “Neither have been seen or found. I…”

“Go on, I’m not who I used to be, I won’t kill you for delivering bad news,” Tom said.

Draco nodded. “Right, I think they are gone. I don’t think they would have traveled in time with you and I suspect that them being destroyed so… thoroughly in the past wouldn’t allow them to have a second existence.”

Tom nodded. “Hermione was quite sure that they wouldn’t be found. She’s rarely ever wrong.” He pretended to ignore Draco’s grimace at the casual use of Hermione’s first name.

“Where are we on gathering support for our cause?”

This time it was Theo’s turn to answer, but unlike Draco, he stayed slouched in his chair and responded like the pure-blood aristocrat he was. Tom appreciated that about Theo. Theo was ready and willing to support, but not interested in sucking up to Tom like so many other people in his past life were. He expected it from Draco but appreciated that Theo was different.  

* * *

  _October 2002_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Tom made it a point to be home when Hermione returned from work. Most nights he even had dinner prepared for them both. It didn’t take Tom too long to figure out that Hermione returned absolutely exhausted most days and barely had the energy to warm a tin of soup. That wouldn’t do, and as soon as Tom had figured out a way to get her to change her job, he would.

Hermione rushed through the door and dropped her handbag and wand on the table near the door.

“Tom, I’m home!” she shouted.

“Dinner’s ready,” Tom said from the doorway to the kitchen. Hermione’s flat was too small for a proper dining room, so they ate at the kitchen table.

“Smells good,” Hermione smiled at him. “Oh, blast.”

Tom raised his eyebrow.

“I forgot to get my cheque cashed,” Hermione muttered. “I’ll have to try and make it to Gringotts tomorrow.”

“Cheque? Doesn’t the Ministry just deposit your pay into your Gringotts account?” Tom asked. Why was the Ministry bothering with a cheque? They hadn’t been used in almost three hundred years as far as he had known.

“I don’t have one.” Hermione sighed. Tom wrinkled his brow as he began serving them both some of the simple stew he’d made.

“Don’t have what?”

This time Hermione’s sigh was louder and more pronounced. “A Gringotts account. I don’t have one.”

“Why not? How can you not have one? How do you store your money?”

“In a Muggle bank account. I pay cash for everything else. Including rent. But savings is stored in a Muggle bank.” She looked away as if she were wishing they were discussing anything else.

Tom slowly lowered his utensils to the table. “Why don’t you have an account at Gringotts, Hermione?” His voice was low and menacing—even though that wasn’t what he was going for—he just wanted to know why.

“I-I…” she trailed off and shook her head.

“Hermione,” he said again, reaching a hand out to touch hers. When she looked up at him her eyes were full of tears and Tom felt like an arse.

“I don’t know how full of an accounting you got of the war from your _friends_ but you had one of your Horcruxes in Gringotts.”

“Not mine,” Tom reminded her. He was quickly finding out that the person he was post-1949 was not who he wanted to be this time around.

Hermione nodded her head but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the interruption. “So, Harry, Ron, and I broke into Gringotts. Imperiused a goblin and went down to Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault and stole the Horcrux. But by then the goblins were onto us and we didn’t have much of an escape plan. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a vault at the deepest parts of Gringotts, but there _was_ an old, half-blind dragon guarding them.”

“Was?” Tom asked. He could see now why the goblins would be angry with her and her friends.

“Was. We broke her free and rode her out of Gringotts.”

“You… you got on the back of a dragon and rode it?” Tom shook his head in disbelief. That couldn’t be a true story, could it?

Hermione nodded. “Not the worst thing that happened to us during the war, but I found it the most terrifying. I hate heights.”

“Merlin,” Tom breathed. “So none of you have vaults in Gringotts?”

Hermione’s laugh was bitter. “See, I didn’t have a vault, I was still a student at the time. But Harry and Ron? Well, the Potters are a relatively old family. And Harry as heir inherited that vault. And even the Weasley’s are part of the bloody Sacred Twenty-Eight. So Ron’s family had a vault too. But me? I’m Muggleborn. I hadn’t opened a vault yet, I figured it was something I could worry about after the war was over. It’s not like I was making any wizarding money, all the wizarding money I had was given to me by my parents and then I exchanged it at Gringotts. At least they let me still cash my cheque and exchange for Muggle money.”

“You mean you are the only one without a vault? Potter and Weasley both still have access to theirs?” Tom wanted to make sure he knew exactly who he was going to be murdering.

“Yes, haven’t I just said?” Hermione gave him a strange look. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I don’t like the look on your face.” Tom immediately cleared his face.

“Just trying to figure out how a supposed war heroine gets royally fucked so badly.” Hermione laughed.

“Well, considering I’m also a Mudblood and a witch, it’s not so hard to imagine, is it?”

Tom glared at her. He wasn’t sure how this turned into an argument, but he knew that before the year was up he would be getting her a vault at Gringotts.

“Did you never appeal? Don’t your friends know?” Tom couldn’t seem to let the subject drop.

“Circe, why are we still talking about this?” Hermione hissed. “Of course, Harry and Ron know. And of course, I bloody appealed it! It got shot down! Obviously! The last time I submitted an appeal to both the Ministry and Gringotts I was told that I would lose the privilege to use Gringotts at all if I kept it up! I’m lucky they let me deal with them at all, or I don’t know what I would do. Probably lose my job at the Ministry. Have to work somewhere making shit, getting paid under the table.”

Tom’s blood boiled at the way she had been treated. He hated that nobody saw her the way he saw her. He hated that there were people in this world who discriminated against her like that. He didn’t want to think that he used to be one of them. Couldn’t they see how fucking perfect she was? How fucking brilliant?


	9. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I say it every week, but this fic would be nothing without the lovely RachaelLA26! If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff or Facebook at Shan Crochetaway.**

* * *

 

_October 2002_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

After spending the day with Theo and Draco, Tom walked into Hermione’s flat to find her already there. It was at least two hours before she usually came home from work. He’d taken to spending his working days with Theo and Draco, bringing more members into the fold slowly, and spending weekends with Hermione. Usually in bed.

“Hey.” Tom leaned against the doorway into the lounge to see Hermione kneeling on the floor in front of the coffee table. She had half a dozen books spread out and several rolls of parchment. She was furiously taking notes, the end of her quill bobbing quickly as her hand flowed across the page.

“Hey,” she said back distractedly.

Tom frowned and walked closer, trying to determine what exactly she was researching so furiously. He almost laughed when he realized it was the books on sex magic. He knew she was interested, but he hadn’t realized how interested she was.

“Found anything?” he asked.

“A few actually that I think will work. I’m running the Arithmantic probabilities now. One of the rituals had to be translated from Ancient Runes, and I’d love a double-check on my work.” She finally looked up at him and offered him a small grin. Her hair was in a fuzzy halo around her head, and she was wearing an old jumper that was much too big for her, one of the shoulders was slipped down her arm, showing the strap of her bra. Tom felt his trousers constrict at the sight of her. She looked utterly beguiling with her ink-stained fingers and her happy smile.

“Sure, I was alright at Runes,” Tom muttered and settled onto the floor next to her. He was somewhat surprised that the floor was more comfortable than it should have been. She must have cast a cushioning charm.

Hermione handed a spare piece of parchment to him and another quill, before going back to her equations.

Tom checked her translations and wasn’t surprised to see that they were perfect. He sat back and watched her work for a moment.

“What?” she asked finally, still not looking up from her parchment.

“Nothing,” Tom smirked.

She must have heard something in his voice because she looked up at him and then flushed.

“You look good.” Tom shrugged.

Hermione snorted and shook her head like she didn’t believe him.

“No, really,” Tom said as he leaned forward and cupped her cheek, not allowing her to turn away from him. “You look delicious, sitting here, surrounded by books and working through a problem. I like a witch with a brain.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. “You do know they call me ‘the brightest witch of her age’ right?”

“I do, and I knew you were brilliant. But seeing it is a different thing,” Tom whispered as he closed the distance between them and kissed her lips. He was ready to take her then and there, but after a moment, she pulled away and began focussing on her parchment once more.

“What Arithmantic probabilities are you running?” Tom asked after a moment. Did she not think the spells would work? He thought the last ritual had proven to her that they would. They’d both felt the power boost in their magic for days afterward. They hadn’t gotten around to trying any other ritual though.

“I want to see how much power can be eked out of each spell. What variables can either increase or decrease the amount of power? Nimue, it’d be fantastic to run a whole experiment on them, but I suppose that would be difficult to pull off. I guess we’ll have to live with our own experimenting. Maybe I can convince someone else to try them…” she trailed off looking deep in thought for a moment, before bending down over the parchment once more.

“We’re not telling anyone else,” Tom murmured. “Sex magic is still considered dark magic in many circles. Even if you and I have seen how it’s merely powerful magic.”

Hermione hummed and nodded absently.

“Why are you home, anyway?” Tom asked. “You usually aren’t home until six or later.”

“My boss sent me home before lunch after I spilled a pot of tea on his desk,” Hermione commented lightly.

“You spilled tea on his desk? An entire pot?”

“He grabbed my arse, so I poured it over every document I could find.”

Tom snorted and kissed Hermione’s temple. She was a little firebrand; he’d give her that. “Your translations are perfect, of course,” he said as he stood and moved to the kitchen to start on dinner. 

* * *

_October 2002_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

Hermione frowned when an owl swooped through her office. Owls generally meant outside communication, and for the most part, arrived only in the morning. It was almost lunchtime now; it must be an emergency for one to be let through at this time of day. Generally, the mail room intercepted and routed outside communication after the morning mail rush. She turned back to the document her boss had her copying out, by hand, of course.

“Magical copying is so blasé, isn’t it, Granger?” he’d snarked as he dropped the six-foot-long scroll on her desk. She was using her wand as much as she could, but currently, her boss was in the office, with the door open and had a straight view to her desk. She sharpened her quill and dipped it into the inkwell once more when the owl landed on her desk.

“Is that for me, Granger?” Mr Quigly asked. She retrieved the scroll from the owl and read the outside. It was in Tom’s handwriting.

“No, it’s for me,” she replied. It didn’t stop Quigly from leering over her shoulder to get a look at the communication.

“Well, I do need that scroll copied by the end of the day,” Quigly stated when Hermione began unrolling the missive from the owl.

She rolled her eyes and nodded. Quigly definitely did _not_ need the scroll by the end of the day. But he did enjoy being an absolute prat to her.

“Excuse me, Mr Quigly. I’m going to take my lunch a little early.” She stood and gathered her things. Tom’s note just said to meet him in Diagon Alley. Tom never contacted her while she was at work, so she wondered what was going on. Was he in some sort of trouble? Fuck, she groaned, at least it wasn’t Auror’s banging down her cubicle asking her to go with them. Perhaps he’d just run out of some of the galleons she’d been leaving out for him. She hastened through the Ministry to the Apparition point in the atrium.

When she arrived outside the Leaky Cauldron, she didn’t see Tom anywhere. He hadn’t mentioned _where_ in Diagon Alley he would be, so Hermione kept her eyes peeled as she began making her way through the Alley toward Gringotts at the opposite end. She finally found Tom standing on the steps of Gringotts waiting for her.

“There you are. A little more specificity would be nice,” Hermione commented as Tom held out his hand for her to grasp. He guided her up the steps and to the door of the bank. “What’s going on?”

“I have a surprise,” Tom murmured with a small smirk. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him but allowed him to lead her into the bank.

Immediately, they were greeted by a goblin. “Miss Granger, please follow me.”

Hermione shared a look with Tom; the goblins were never that polite to anyone. Let alone her. Tom’s smirk deepened, and he gestured for her to follow the goblin. The goblin led them to a small office in the back.

“Now, Miss Granger. All seems to be in order. Please accept my apologies for the mix-up, had we’d known who you were, of course, it wouldn’t have happened.” The goblin shook his head like he was truly lamenting something.

“What mix-up?” Hermione asked. “Who am I supposed to be?”

“Why the Gaunt heir, of course! The Gaunts were an impoverished family, to be sure, but they still held a vault at Gringotts. There are a few familial items of note in it, although, nothing worth too much money.”

“The what?” Hermione snapped. She whipped her head around to glare at Tom who just smirked and shrugged.

“The Gaunt heir! Mr Evans here explained it all to us. Your family documents are all in order, all we need is to give you the key. Would you like to see the vault?”

“I can’t accept this,” Hermione shook her head and moved to stand. Tom frowned at her and pulled her aside.

“You have to accept this. It’s the only way to get you an account,” Tom hissed.

Hermione glared at him. “I’m not going to lie to the goblins! Do you have any idea how vindictive they are?”

“It’s not a lie if it’s true. I’m the Gaunt heir; I named you my heir. Ergo, you are the Gaunt heir.”

“Why don’t you just accept the vault then?” Hermione asked.

“Because it doesn’t get _you_ a vault at Gringotts. Aren’t you sick of being treated like a second-class citizen, Hermione? You deserve to have the full rights of every other witch and wizard in this country.”

Hermione sighed and rubbed her forehead. Tom wasn’t wrong; she was heartily sick of cashing her cheque every two weeks and the horrible exchange rate the goblins gave her for pounds. She wasn’t making nearly enough money to be gouged as horribly as she was.

“Fine,” she whispered.

“Good girl,” Tom breathed, kissing her lightly on the temple, before leading her back to the chair. The smirk on his face told Hermione that he thought he had won. Hermione agreed with him. She could have walked out of the bank. Could have left him here, but she didn’t. Because Tom was right. She _was_ sick of being treated as a second-class citizen.

“Alright then?” the goblin asked.

“Of course,” Tom assured the goblin.

“Excellent. Well, Miss Granger here is your key. Would you like to go inspect your vault now?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m afraid I must be getting back to work.” She accepted the key from the goblin, and Tom’s arm as he led her out of the bank.

“You need a more influential job,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Hermione pulled away from him with a glare.

“Excuse me?” she snapped.  

“You need a more influential job,” Tom repeated himself. “The one you have is going nowhere. And if you can’t get one at the Ministry, you should just quit.”

“And do what? How do you think I afford the flat, Tom? I’m not loaded like your ‘followers’. I have to work for a living. Maybe _you_ should get a job,” Hermione fumed. She tried to pull away from him, but he dragged her down a little-used alley to the side of Gringotts. The grip on her arm was firm, despite Hermione’s struggles to free herself.

“Don’t be angry because I’m telling you the truth,” Tom said.

Hermione glared at him and tried to push past him again. She couldn’t deal with this today. She’d had an absolutely awful day; Quigly was truly trying to kill her with tedium, she was sure of it. The last thing she needed to hear was that she needed a new job. From the time-traveling freeloader currently living in her flat. She knew she needed a new job. The problem was, she’d put in for a handful of transfers over the last year, and each and every one of them had been denied. She wasn’t going to be getting a new job. At least, not at the Ministry of Magic.

“Just think about it,” Tom breathed as he pressed her body into the wall behind her. A flick of his hand and Hermione felt the tell-tale whistle of a Notice-Me-Not charm go up around them.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Gathering my reward for getting you a vault at Gringotts,” Tom said as he began kissing along her jaw. His fingers made quick work of her cloak and outer robes.

“Tom,” she snapped, trying to push him away again.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” he whispered into her ear. “I put up a Notice-Me-Not, not a silencing charm. You’ll have to be quiet.”

Hermione though her knees might give out. Liquid fire ran through her veins and Tom had his hand under her skirt and a finger inside her slick channel faster than she could have imagined. He pushed her knickers to the side, and Hermione fumbled with his belt, trying desperately to pull out his cock. How was it she was always so ready for him? So wet for him from just a few kisses and touches.

It was insanity, to fuck against a wall in Diagon Alley, and yet, Hermione couldn’t help but be turned on by it all. The thrill of maybe getting caught. Of someone watching them. It sang through her body and the moment Tom’s cock was free; she wrapped both legs around his hips.

Tom hissed as she slowly sank down on his length and Hermione tossed her head back, biting her lip to keep her moan from escaping. How did this _still_ feel so fucking good? They’d been at it like rabbits for two months, and still, she couldn’t get enough of him. Tom started rocking into her at a slow, steady pace.

“Please, Tom,” she whispered, trying to urge him on faster. She needed it faster.

“Mmm, not the words I’m looking for, love,” Tom hissed into her skin as he planted soft, wet kisses along her clavicle.

“What exactly are you looking for then?” Hermione panted. She didn’t quite have the mental capacity to think when he was doing that delicious thing he did with his thumb at her clit.

“Thank you,” Tom replied. “Thank you, Tom, for getting me a vault at Gringotts.”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. Tom gave a particularly hard thrust, and she moaned. She wanted more of those hard thrusts.

“Thank you, Tom,” she said huskily. She bit her lip as he increased his pace, just a little. “Thank you for gifting me your vault at Gringotts.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Tom asked as he finally began pistoning his hips, hitting every spot inside her that made her see stars. His thumb never ceased its assault on her clit, and it wasn’t long before Hermione found herself hurtling over the edge of her climax.

“Tom!” she choked out. He pressed his lips to her to keep her quiet before he too found his release.

Hermione clung to him for a moment, regaining her breath and her equilibrium.

“See you at home,” Tom murmured as they both straightened their clothes. Then he began strolling off down the Alley. Hermione sighed as she watched him go, her stomach in knots about what had just occurred. Not just the sex, but him solving her problems for her. She was a big girl; she didn’t need him. She couldn’t allow him to take care of her like that. She couldn’t let him win either. It was an incredibly slippery slope. He was Voldemort after all, and she couldn’t allow herself to separate them in her mind, regardless of how much she wanted to.

* * *

_October 2002_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Hermione was nose deep in yet another book on sex magic. This one from the ancient Greeks. It had many of the same spells and rituals as the Druidic book had, but the ancient Greeks were apparently prone to dabbling in blood magic. Frankly, blood magic squicked Hermione out quite a bit, and she wasn’t sure she would be comfortable performing it.

“What are you reading?” Tom asked as he poured her a glass of wine.

Hermione held up her book for him but continued the passage. The blood used was in small amounts, and was personal, it wasn’t like they had to get the blood off of a stranger, but still. There was something about blood that just made everything seem icky. And unclean.

“What do you think of blood magic?” Hermione asked, looking up at him.

She reached for the glass of wine he was holding for her and took a sip while he thought over her question. His deep blue eyes roamed her face for a long moment while he considered his answer.

“I think it can fall into the same category as sex magic,” Tom finally said.

Hermione lifted her brow and replied, “You mean that you don’t think it’s automatically Dark Magic?”

“Well, I don’t really think that there _is_ Dark Magic,” Tom said pursing his lips. “Magic is just power. And power doesn’t have the capacity to be light or Dark.”

“Seriously?” Hermione snorted. “What about the Unforgivables? Aren’t they all Dark Magic? Mind control over someone else seems pretty fucking dark to me. As does torture. Let’s not even talk about the murder one.”

“Well even some curses are created for reasons of good and twisted for ill purposes,” Tom said. “The Entrail-Expelling Curse is one. Created by a Healer to expel a blockage from one’s entrails, and yet, with a slight twist and flick of your want in the right spot, it will expel one’s entrails from their body.”

Hermione sighed. “I understand that. I know that all spells can be used for good or ill, but seriously. What good ever came of the Imperius Curse? Or the Cruciatus?”

“Didn’t you just tell me the other day you yourself used the Imperius Curse on a goblin during the last war?” Tom asked.

“Technically, that wasn’t me,” Hermione mumbled. She couldn’t fault him for that. Had Harry _not_ Imperiused that goblin, they likely wouldn’t have been able to retrieve Hufflepuff’s cup at all. It had saved them at the time. “Getting back to blood magic. I’m not really into blood play in the bedroom, but a lot of these rituals and ceremonies call for some sort of blood sacrifice from the participants.”

“I’m also not into blood play,” Tom replied. “But I think a small sacrifice prior to the start of any sexual activity wouldn’t totally put me off.”

“Honestly, the idea of involving blood at all in any form sort of makes me feel a little ill,” Hermione admitted. Tom smirked at her and Hermione rolled her eyes in response. “Although, I guess if it’s only our blood it isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“There’s the spirit.”

Hermione rolled her eyes again and looked back to the book she had been reading. The involvement of blood in the rituals also seemed to lead to a tighter bond. Adding a blood sacrifice to the next time they tried sex magic might be a good way to tie Tom to her on a more permanent basis. That thought both terrified and exhilarated her.  

* * *

_November 2002_

_Nott Park_

_Bedfordshire, England_

* * *

It had taken every one of the three months since Tom had sought out Theo to have the meeting they were holding today. There were twenty-five young pure-blood heirs and heiresses in attendance at Nott Park. Each invitation meticulously handed out by Draco and Theo to finally meet Tom. He’d been keeping a rather low profile for several reasons. Getting the lay of the land was important. As was learning the ways wizarding society and culture worked these days. He was unsurprised to hear that it hadn’t changed all that much. Sure, Muggleborns were slightly more elevated in position than fifty years ago, but not that much. The Ministry and Wizengamot were very much still run by old wizarding families headed by old men. A few witches had seats in the Wizengamot, but not many.

Tom wanted to change that. The same system he had been so desperate to be a part of and to worm his way into fifty odd years ago, he now wanted to tear down from the inside. Then he’d been an outside influence and garnering power by terrifying his followers. From everything he’d heard from Theo and Draco, it didn’t go that well. Yes, people were terrified of him, but he never really got a seat of power. Even during the war, he was still always fighting with his followers. It led to a darkness that Tom knew Hermione wouldn’t tolerate.

He also knew that the younger generation of witches and wizards were sick of war and fighting, he almost couldn’t believe that a battle had been fought _at_ Hogwarts. To fight a battle at such a sacred place in the wizarding world seemed entirely too blasphemous for Tom. He was getting a second chance, and he was determined to make the most of it. That meant a subtler approach. A more Slytherin approach. And if there was anything that Tom was, it was a Slytherin.

The first part of the meeting was just drinks and introductions. Theo and Draco introduced him to various witches and wizards. It was interesting to see the features and names of some of Tom’s contemporaries in these people.

“And what exactly is your master plan?” Pansy Parkinson asked him with an arched eyebrow. It was a bit of an open secret that he was the Dark Lord come back, but other than Draco and Theo, he hadn’t cultivated much of the ‘lord’ part of his persona. He wanted to be their leader, but he didn’t need their subservience.

“I want to close the gap between the Muggle and wizarding worlds. I want to approach Muggleborns much earlier in their lives than eleven. I want to offer Muggleborn families more support than the Ministry Obliviation squad. I don’t want any magical child growing up as I did, or even as Harry Potter did.”

“You want to offer support to Mudbloods?” Cassius Warrington asked incredulously. “They are what’s bringing our society down in the first place! Their filthy blood is dirtying up our family lines!”

Tom narrowed his eyes at Warrington. Theo had warned him that the Warrington and Flint cadre was a volatile bunch.

“Really, Cassius.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “Mudblood is such an uncouth word. Nor is it politically correct. How you ever were sorted into Slytherin, I have no idea.”

Tom was pleased to hear that there were at least some people who had brains and knew which way the political winds were shifting.

“Miss Parkinson is correct, Mr Warrington,” Tom said. He was flattering them with titles, but he knew it would get him places.

“Pansy, please Mr Evans,” Pansy smirked at him.

“Then you must call me Tom, Pansy.” Tom returned her smile before turning his attention back to Warrington. “I’m sure Theo and Draco have clued you in on exactly who I am?”

Warrington nodded, suddenly looking wary.

“Good,” Tom grinned. “I am not the same person who caused the last two wars though. Nor do I want another war now. I almost can’t believe I took such an un-Slytherin approach twice before. This time I want to be much more insidious. And that means garnering support for the Muggleborns and half-bloods in our society. They by far outnumber the pure-bloods. I’m a half-blood, after all. And if you discount the Muggleborns, how do you account for a witch such as Hermione Granger? Top of her class, brightest witch of her age? She’s a Muggleborn.”

“Pfft, and what’s Granger done since she’s graduated?” Warrington asked.

“Hermione is the whole reason _I_ am here,” Tom reminded him. “Also, she is probably the only person not afraid to stand up to me _and_ who could beat me in a duel.”

Warrington snorted again, “I’m obviously not afraid of you—”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Tom smirked. “I propose a challenge then. Let’s duel, you and I Warrington. You can’t cast anything you can’t heal. If I lose, you can become the leader of this little group. If you lose, you give me the contents of the Warrington heir vault at Gringotts.”

There were a few gasps and titters amongst the crowd who had gathered by that point. But this was all planned out in advance by Tom, Theo, and Draco. They had known Warrington was a hothead and that Tom’s plan needed a cash influx. Theo and Draco were always willing to give, but a permanent cash influx caused by taking over the fortune of one of the richest families in the country would be indispensable. It would also serve to remind the rest that Tom was the best. That Tom couldn’t be beaten and that trying to do so would be to one’s detriment.

“The whole vault?” Warrington asked.

“Yes,” Tom said simply. “As it stands now. It has three or four million galleons in it?”

Warrington turned red and gritted his teeth, “Yes. How do you—”

“I have my sources,” Tom smiled.

“Fine,” Warrington snapped.

“Let’s do it now. You have a dueling arena, right Theo?” Tom asked, turning back to his friend.

Theo smiled. “Of course, my lord. Let us all retire there.”

* * *

The duel between Tom and Warrington would be considered the beginning shots for Tom and his group's campaign to change the wizarding world forever. Like any other beginning to a fable, people would later describe it in greater detail and with more exaggeration than it deserved. The reality of the thing was short. Only twenty minutes or so for Tom to disarm Warrington and then cause a great enough injury that Warrington could not continue the duel.

In the immediate aftermath, once Tom had healed Warrington, Warrington and Tom left directly for Gringotts to transfer the funds. Another part of Tom’s plan to not allow Warrington to cheat him even one bronze knut.

As they exited Gringotts, Tom clapped Warrington on the back. “Thanks. You’ll be the first in a long line of donors to this cause.”

Warrington snarled at Tom and wrenched himself away in Apparition. Tom smirked, knowing he would be back and returned to the gathering at Nott Park. 

* * *

_November 2002_

_Nott Park_

_Bedfordshire, England_

* * *

A week after the fateful gathering, Tom, Theo, and Draco were discussing next steps in the plan. Theo was his first target.

“You must assume the Nott seat on the Wizengamot,” Tom said.

Theo groaned, “Why? I hate all that shite. I’d rather lounge around my manor and plot world domination with you.”

“I’m aware,” Tom smirked, “but soon I too hope to be on the Wizengamot, in which case we’ll have to continue plotting our world domination at the Ministry and not Nott Park.”

“Fine,” Theo whined.

“Lucky,” Draco muttered.

“Would you like the Malfoy seat?” Tom asked.

“As if my father would give it up,” Draco rolled his eyes.

“No, probably not right away, but eventually I want everyone on the Wizengamot to be younger than the age of sixty. And if you can’t take the Malfoy seat, maybe you can take another. Who was your mother?”

“Narcissa Black.”

“And there’s currently no Black heir?”

“The Black family is extinct, although technically Potter is the Black heir,” Draco said.

“Potter? I thought his mother was a Muggleborn?”

“She was,” Theo said. “But his godfather was Sirius Black, who made Potter the heir.”

“But you’re the blood heir…” Tom trailed off as he considered the implication of stealing the Wizengamot seat out from under Potter. “Potter has a seat, yes?”

“He does, although it too is empty,” Draco said.

“Alright, well the first order of business once we get as many of the empty seats as we can fill, is to start electioning off seats that have been empty for too long,” Tom said. “I’m going to attempt to assume the Gaunt seat if it’s still available, but if not, then I’ll campaign for one of the seats that currently sits empty.”

Theo and Draco both nodded along with his plan, and the three of them began detailing who currently sat on the Wizengamot and who could possibly take their place. Quite a few of the witches and wizards who had been at the gathering either had unfulfilled seats on the Wizengamot that they could easily slide into or relatives that might be coaxed into retiring their seat.

“Now that our plan is in place, we need to ramp our campaign efforts. Theo, you’ll have to start hosting parties, inviting the most influential members of both the Ministry and the Wizengamot. The best way to learn the lay of the land is to get to know the players. Perhaps we’ll discover a few weaknesses along the way,” Tom grinned. 

* * *

_November 2002_

_Hermione Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

“Are you sure that’s the one you want to try?” Tom asked as he read over Hermione’s shoulder. She had pointed to a ritual that involved blood. Tom was surprised by that, but it was only a little blood. Mostly it involved the element of fire. They wouldn’t be able to perform this one in Hermione’s flat.

Tom felt Hermione tense, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to relax her.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Hermione said.

“We’ll need to do it out of doors, and it looks like standing stones are traditional…”

“Doesn’t one of your ‘followers’ have standing stones on one of their properties?” Hermione asked snottily. She hated that Tom still considered people like Theo and Draco followers. Not out of some sort of respect for either Theo and Draco, though, but because it made him seem like a Dark Lord. And that was something she’d been quite clear on being unable to abide. Tom mostly did it to irk her these days. She did flush so prettily when annoyed.

“Mmm, I know there is a set on Malfoy lands, but I’m guessing Lucius won’t allow us access. I’ll have to ask Theo.”

“Fine,” Hermione nodded.

Tom smirked and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, then left the room to owl Theo.

* * *

_November 2002_

_Nott Park_

_Bedfordshire, England_

* * *

Tom watched as Theo walked back toward Nott Park after he’d led Tom and Hermione out to the standing stones. They were small, and half wore down with age, but the altar was still serviceable.

“You have everything you need?” Tom asked absentmindedly. He wanted to make sure Theo was gone for sure before casting a few privacy wards. Hermione was _his_ , and this was a very private ceremony.

“Yep,” Hermione smiled and began pulling more things then could logically fit out of a small beaded bag.

Tom watched her for a moment, enjoying how the dying evening light made her skin glow. He couldn’t imagine that he’d ever found her plain.

Turning back to the standing stones, Tom walked a perimeter around them casting a variety of privacy wards, including silencing and vision-obscuring. Someone could be standing just on the other side of the wards, and they would have no idea what was taking place.

Hermione had laid out a ring of oak logs for burning. The oak symbolized power, which was not only necessary for the ritual but if the ritual was done correctly would enhance the power Tom and Hermione would have afterward. The ceremony Hermione had chosen should increase personal magical stores for up to a week, as well as increase the longevity of their lives.

Other than the symbolism of the wood and the small blood sacrifice, there wasn’t much else to this ritual. Other than the sex on the altar of course.

Finished with the ring of oak, Hermione lit it, and soon the clearing in the standing stones became warm with the heat of the fire. Tom and Hermione stood on opposite sides of the altar and with a small silver blade, they each cut their left hands and put a few drops of blood in the ceramic bowl Hermione had brought along.

“To Freya, goddess of love and sexuality, I offer you my life-blood in hopes that you will bless me and this ritual with your presence,” Hermione intoned.

“To Freyr, god of phallic sexuality, I offer you my life-blood in hopes that you will bless me and this ritual with your presence,” Tom said.

They set the bowl to the top of the altar, and both took off their robes. They were naked underneath, ready for the ritual. Tom laid Hermione down atop her robe on the altar and began worshipping her body. He dropped soft kisses on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. Hermione ran her hands along Tom’s shoulders, smoothing his skin and pulling him further on top of her. Tom began leaving soft wet kisses down the side of Hermione’s neck while running a hand between her breasts.

He cupped one and then the other, thumbing both nipples, and using his other hand to hold him up above her.

“Tom,” Hermione moaned, bucking her body into his, searching for that sweet friction.

Tom finally made his way down to her breasts and licked a circle around one nipple before drawing it into his mouth and sucking.

“Tom!” Hermione shouted, grasping his head tightly to her chest as her hips jumped wildly. Tom could feel it too, there was something, not quite a presence, but something amping their feelings, making it all feel more real, more alive.

“Hermione,” he groaned into her skin as she gripped him tightly. She tugged at his hair, trying to pull him up and he obeyed. He was desperate to be inside her hot, tight, sweet warmth.

The moment he settled into the vee of her thighs, Hermione wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, and Tom felt his cock slide through her wet folds. It was intoxicating.

“Please,” Hermione begged, “please Tom. I need you.”

Tom growled and with a twist of his hips, pushed himself inside her. She was impossibly warm, impossibly wet, impossibly tight and it was everything Tom could do not to come right then and there. But just as the last ritual they had to come together, this one too, they had to reach their end at the same time. He loved giving Hermione orgasms, more than one usually, but sex magic didn’t work like that.

He felt a strange pressure on his lower back, urging him to move and so he did. As he moved, the pressure eased, but the feeling of being inside Hermione was almost more than he could bear. It had _never_ felt like this before. Not in all the months, they'd been doing this. It almost felt _too_ good. Tom wasn’t sure how long he would last as he slowly built a rhythm.

Hermione was writhing on the altar below him. Her head tossed back in ecstasy and Tom began driving harder and faster into her. He was desperate to come.

“Hermione,” he panted, and slipped a hand between him, finding her engorged clit and circling it with his thumb.

“So fucking close,” Hermione gasped. “I’m almost—” she broke off in a scream and Tom felt the tell-tale flutter of her walls around him, and he too let go, following her off the precipice and into the pleasure that awaited them both.

A wave of magic expanded out of them and slammed back into their bodies, igniting every nerve ending they had. Tom half-collapsed on top of Hermione, panting and trying to catch his breath.

“Holy…” Hermione trailed off as if she couldn’t muster up the energy to finish that statement.

“Yeah,” Tom replied in agreement.

They both groaned when they could finally make out Theo shouting from outside the wards. Tom concentrated and waved his hand, canceling the wards.

“What the bloody fuck was that?” Theo shouted from the other side of the fire-ring.

Hermione snorted and hid her face in Tom’s shoulder. Tom smirked and turned to his friend, just barely visible through the flames. “Sex magic.”

“I need to find someone to experiment with some of that,” Theo muttered as he began putting out the fire.

Tom smiled and slowly rose off the altar, helping Hermione back into her robe before putting his own on again.

“The blood’s gone,” Hermione commented, looking into the ceramic bowl.

“Then we did it right,” Tom said with a grin. Hermione grinned back and leaned up to kiss him. He shouldn’t have been able to cancel the wards he’d set earlier wandlessly; which proved he was already much more powerful than he had been before the ritual. He couldn’t wait to see what else he could do with this power boost.


	10. Accession

* * *

_December 2002_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Hermione was nervous as she donned the new gown Tom had insisted on for tonight’s affair. It was New Year's Eve, and Tom was taking her to a gala, hosted by Theo Nott. Hermione had heard the rumor mill at the Ministry. Nott had been hosting loads of parties over the last few months. Tom had gone to them all, insisting to Hermione that she wouldn’t be interested when she questioned him about it. The idea of Tom consolidating power in the pure-bloods of her generation still made her nervous, so in all truth, she was glad not to be made to attend these gatherings. She feared what would be said to and about her, the only mudblood in the room.

Scowling into the mirror, Hermione made to turn around when Tom appeared behind her.

“You look beautiful,” Tom said simply as he took in her blood red dress. The dress was strapless and set off her shoulders and collarbones nicely. “I have something for you.”

Tom draped a gorgeous diamond necklace around her neck. It had a large teardrop that nestled into the swell of her breasts, and it sparkled in the dim light of her bedroom.

“Tom, this is—”

“Beautiful, although not as beautiful as you. You should say thank you,” Tom smirked at her over her shoulder in the mirror. Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded her thanks. After the argument at Christmas over Tom’s gifts, she decided to accept them with graciousness. Obviously, he was getting his money from somewhere, and the less Hermione knew about it, the less she had to worry about it. She just hoped that it was legal. Tom had assured her it was, that his political aspirations wouldn’t go very far if he were involved in illegal activities. So she had to trust him, as hard as that was for her. It helped that so far he hadn’t done anything _un_ trustworthy. Nothing she knew about anyway. She sighed again, and Tom wrapped his arms around her waist, placing his chin on top of her head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Hermione wasn’t sure what to say. She was afraid to admit her nervousness in front of him. He’d mocked her for being a poor Gryffindor. Yet she felt like, in order to tie him to her, she needed to be vulnerable. If she showed her vulnerability, maybe Tom would too. Maybe she could actually pull this off. This reining in of the scariest Dark wizard of her time.

“I’m nervous,” Hermione said at last. “Most of these people have called me a mudblood,” Tom hissed at her use of the word. She rolled her eyes and continued, “at some point in my life. I’m over the petty insults, but I hate the fact that you are friends with people like that.”

“I promise you, Hermione, they will not be calling you that filthy term tonight.”

“Filthy? I think you yourself called me a mudblood at one point in time,” Hermione reminded him.

“Not me,” Tom said. “I am not him. I am not Lord Voldemort. And I won’t be again.”

Hermione bit her lip, still not sure. Tom turned her around in his arms and cupped her face with both of his hands. “I promise, Hermione. Nobody will say that to you. Not only that, nobody will even _think_ of slighting you tonight. You look like a pure-blood princess yourself. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

“They won’t because you threatened to torture them if they did?” Hermione whispered.

“No! Because it doesn’t suit the cause,” Tom said fiercely. “The cause is to close the divide in the wizarding world between the pure-bloods and those raised in the Muggle world, Muggle-borns or half-bloods. Nobody should grow up like I did. Like your friend Harry did. That’s the cause I believe in. We’re stronger together. But the old pure-blood guard? They’ll never let it happen without a fight. I’m trying to do it with a bloodless coup instead.”

Hermione took a moment to process his words. In theory, she agreed with him, but even now, all these months later, the idea of agreeing with Tom’s political views made her nervous. But not nervous enough to back out of going to Nott’s gala tonight.

“You promise?” Hermione asked.

“Of course,” Tom assured her. Hermione finally nodded one last time and allowed Tom to help her into her cloak. He squeezed her tightly to him as he Apparated them both to Nott Park.

Nott Park was lit up and decorated to the nines. Hermione was thoroughly impressed given what Tom had said of its condition when he’d first visited it months ago. The ballroom at Nott Park was crowded, and it seemed like Tom knew everyone. People clamored to get his attention, which he doled out like a beatific monarch. Hermione was surprised to see how well liked he was. She knew he was charming. He’d charmed her after all, but to see it from other people was a surprise.

What wasn’t a surprise was the crowd, mostly pure-bloods, and almost entirely made up of people she knew from Hogwarts. About half-way through the gala, Hermione found herself standing along the sidelines of the room. She was tired and wanted to go home, but knew that Tom wouldn’t want to leave until well past midnight.

“Granger,” Pansy Parkinson greeted her with a nod as she sidled up next to Hermione. Hermione felt a small stab of jealousy as she took in the dark-haired witch. Pansy had always been glamorous, more glamorous than Hermione had ever been, and dressed in her slinky, black cocktail gown, Hermione had to admit she looked better than ever.

“Pansy,” Hermione nodded at her. She wondered if she was about to be on the receiving end of a slur when Pansy grinned at her.

“Well, someone seems to be holding their own this evening,” Pansy said. They were silent for a moment as they took in the scene before them. Hermione could almost see the political deals making and breaking as people talked to one another.

“Mmm, I’ve learned a thing or two in the last few months,” Hermione said, sipping her glass of champagne.

“Have you?” Pansy waved a hand, and soon Millicent Bulstrode joined them. If anyone were to win a ‘Most Changed Since Hogwarts’ award, it would be Millicent. She’d slimmed down considerably, and Hermione almost didn’t recognize her. She was dressed in a brilliantly Slytherin-green gown that hugged her frame and yet, was still demure. She looked amazing.

“Granger,” Millicent greeted her. Hermione almost snorted. What was it with Slytherins and the use of last names?

“Millicent,” Hermione smiled warmly at her. “How are you? You look quite beautiful this evening.”

Hermione _had_ learned a lot in the last few months. Tom wasn’t the only one who could charm a crowd and Hermione knew there was a reason Pansy and Millicent were talking to her. She wanted to know what it was.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Millicent smiled graciously. “My friends call me Millie.”

“Millie it is then,” Hermione replied.

“She’ll do,” Pansy said.

Millie nodded, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “Is that what this is all about? Coming over here to make sure I’m good enough for Tom?”

Pansy tossed her head back and laughed. “It’s not that we didn’t think you weren’t good enough, Hermione. It’s that we needed to ensure you were politically savvy enough. If not, Millie and I were to coach you.”

“Oh? And who put you up to this?” Hermione asked. Her grip on her glass tightened as she thought of Tom speaking to people about her. Acid churned in her stomach. She knew what their relationship was. She knew that she was supposed to be in this to corral him. The idea that he was using her for his political gain, that that’s all he wanted from her? It made her sick.

“Me,” Millie said. “I don’t deign to know what goes on with you and Tom and he almost never talks about you, except to say that you are a permanent fixture in his life. So I took it on myself and Pansy to help ensure that his ‘permanent fixture’ was going to be a boon to him politically.”

Hermione pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. She was practically vibrating with anger at the trap she felt like she’d been caught in.

“Hermione,” Pansy said lowly and touched the small of her back. Hermione finally tore her eyes from the crowd in front of her to look at the other witch. “We just had to be sure. We aren’t your enemy.”

“You used to be,” Hermione reminded Pansy. She looked to Millie, who at least looked slightly ashamed.

“Not anymore,” Millie said emphatically. “We’re on the same side. We want the same things.”

Hermione laughed bitterly. Nobody was on her side. Not Harry and Ron, not Tom, and certainly not these two witches.

“Truly, we are, Hermione,” Pansy said. “We want to start over, to become friends with you. I understand you haven’t had many girlfriends in your life…”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No need to butter me up. I’ll be the political ally you need me to be. I can afford little else. And Tom isn’t wrong. We’re tied together in ways that I cannot explain, nor will I.”

Pansy and Millie both seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and Hermione finished her champagne. “If you are going to be my allies,” Hermione began, she couldn’t bring herself to call them friends; she didn’t have friends at the moment it seemed, “then I want to know all of the gossip. As you can imagine, Tom keeps me isolated, but if I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t help him.”

“Of course,” Pansy said with a nod. “Let’s have tea in two days time if that’s acceptable?”

Hermione nodded and with a goodbye strode away from the pair of witches. She needed time to cool down. Then perhaps she could persuade Tom to dance with her.  

* * *

Later that evening, Tom ushered Hermione home. She’d been right earlier; it was almost one in the morning before they made it home. Despite her somewhat tense encounter with Pansy and Millie, Hermione was surprised at how well the evening had gone. Tom had been right; everyone was extremely pleasant to her. And not just fake-pleasant, but actually pleasant. It surprised her because, ever since her last argument with Harry and Ron, she hadn’t dealt with much pleasantness from anyone. Although thankfully, Harry and Ron hadn’t spilled the beans on Tom, they had emphatically told Hermione that it was her problem to fix. And the fix they expected was that she would murder Tom. Hermione couldn’t understand why they thought she would do that. She had no intentions of killing Tom, especially not now.

The moment the door to Hermione’s flat closed behind them, Tom was on her. She pushed thoughts of Ron and Harry out of her head as Tom pushed her into the closed door and covered her mouth with his. Hermione was so tired, but the feeling of his body pressed against hers woke her up. And reminded her of one last task she had to complete that evening.

“Tom,” she breathed as he moved his mouth down her neck, kissing the skin there.

“So fucking gorgeous. So fucking perfect. I couldn’t ask for a better witch,” Tom groaned into her skin.

“I have something for you,” Hermione breathed.

Tom pulled back to look at her face. Hermione smirked. “It’s a birthday present.”

“How did…”

“Tom.” Hermione gave him a patronizing look, “I know so much more about you than you realize. Including the fact that New Year’s Eve is your birthday. How old does that make you? Seventy-seven or twenty-four?”

“Let’s go with twenty-four,” Tom said. He picked Hermione up, and she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her to their bedroom. “What’s the surprise?”

Hermione dug the wand from the holster attached to her bra and flicked it. The moment they entered the bedroom, Tom looked around in awe. She’d set it up for another ceremony. The salt ring was almost ready to be closed around the bed, and there were a ceremonial knife and bowl set out on one of the bedside tables.

“Which ceremony is this?” Tom asked as he loosened his tie.

Hermione grinned. She’d picked this one out, specifically with Tom in mind. It wasn’t even a grey spell, this one was almost straight up Dark, but she thought that Tom would appreciate it. Especially, since this one gave a permanent power boost.

“Well, it involves a little blood, as you can see,” Hermione said. She loosened the ties that held her dress together, and it pooled at her feet. Tom couldn’t keep his eyes off her. “And some conjuring, hence the candles.” Hermione gestured to the tall, black candles that covered every surface and hovered in the air. Black was for conjuring the dead. Tom breathed in sharply at the indication.

“Just how Dark is this one?” Tom whispered.

“Very Dark,” Hermione smiled. “Although, I think you’ll like it very much.”

“Which one, Hermione,” Tom fairly growled at her. He stepped close and pulled her body to his.

“ _Magus Potens Transfero_ ,” Hermione replied. She was pleased when Tom gasped and even more pleased when he grinned.

“And who exactly are we targeting?” Tom asked.

“Your former followers who have died,” Hermione said. “I figure they were willing to die for you once, why not give up a little of what they don’t need anymore.”

“This is very Dark, indeed. Are you sure you’re alright with it?” Tom asked.

Hermione shrugged. She’d been thinking about this ritual for months. Ever since she stumbled across it. The lure of a permanent power boost was too much for her to ignore.

“It’s permanent,” Hermione said. “Not temporary like the others we’ve done. That appeals to me.”

Tom crushed her to him and pressed his mouth to hers insistently. Hermione knew that tonight was a night where her life would change forever, and she found she was looking forward to it. She didn’t want to take the time to examine her feelings for Tom, but from what Millie said at the gala, Tom was planning on staying with her. If that was the case, then Hermione was willing to throw her lot in with his on a more permanent basis.

“I think I fucking love you,” Tom whispered as he trailed his kisses down her neck.

Hermione’s heart squeezed at his words. She wasn’t sure what they meant, nor was she ready to say anything of the kind back. She pulled back from him with a smirk and indicated the ritual space. Tom nodded, and they both disrobed entirely, entered the circle, and closed it.

Tom handed her the knife and Hermione made a small cut on her palm, dripping her blood into the bowl on the nightstand. Tom did the same. Then they clasped their bloodied hands together over the bowl and began chanting.

As the chanting continued, growing louder, the room grew colder, and the first apparition appeared. Hermione didn’t recognize the ghostly figure, but he nodded at Tom and took his place outside the circle. Soon more popped up; some she recognized, others she didn’t. She was shocked to see Professor Snape appear. He quirked an eyebrow at her, but then he too took his place.

After several moments, the pearlescent figures turned to gold, indicating that nobody else from Beyond the Veil was coming. Her bedroom was quite crowded. The figures stood three or four deep outside the circle of salt. The ghostly apparitions took up the chanting and Tom, and Hermione fell silent. It was eerie, the way the glow of the spirits mixed with the glow from the candles. Their deep voices made Hermione’s skin break out in gooseflesh.

“It’s time,” Tom said with a low voice. Hermione smiled at him nervously. It felt strange to be standing nude in front of so many people, even if they were just spirits at this point. She wasn’t sure she could get relaxed enough to have an orgasm. She hadn’t thought about this ahead of time. Tom seemed to sense her nervousness because he pushed her onto the bed and quickly took control.

“Turn over,” he muttered. She did so, lying on her stomach, her face turned to one side. She could just see Snape and Dolohov staring at her, almost hungrily and she shut her eyes.

Tom trailed his fingers down the flesh of her back, warming her skin and little by little she began to relax. The presence of the spirits had dropped the temperature of the room significantly. Tom ran his hands up the back of her legs, spreading them enough that he could kneel between them. He brought one foot up to his mouth and began kissing along her toes, down her arch, and over her ankle. Hermione groaned at the soft touches, and she could feel her arousal start to build. It was intoxicating the way this wizard worshipped her body. Her heart beat faster as he kissed his way from her feet to her center. By the time he arrived she was panting and begging for him to touch her.

“Tom, please,” Hermione whispered.

She could feel his grin against the soft skin of her thigh, he wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled them up, so she was on her knees, her shoulders and head still buried into the bed. She expected to feel his hard cock slide through her folds, so she was shocked when she felt his tongue instead.

“Tom,” Hermione begged. “I won’t last, please.”

“Don’t worry, love,” Tom murmured into her skin as he twirled his tongue around her clit. She tried to pump her hips, wanting more friction from him. “We don’t have to come at the same time for this ritual. You just enjoy yourself.” Hermione saw stars as he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked.

“Tom,” she groaned as her orgasm overwhelmed her. She opened her eyes only to see a crowded room of spectral men watching her. Their eyes hooded, their mouths moving in a chant she could just barely hear over the roar of her own blood in her ears.

“Hermione,” Tom moaned as he pushed his hard cock through her swollen flesh. Hermione grunted when he hit her cervix and pushed back against him as he pulled out to enter her again. She needed more from him. She needed it harder, faster, fiercer. She needed him to obliterate her thoughts and feelings. She needed him.

Tom slid a firm hand up her spine and grasped the nape of her neck. Hermione arched her back in appreciation of the way Tom dominated her body. His other hand clasped her hip, and his pace increased frenetically. Hermione could barely move for the way he was holding her. She pushed against the headboard in front of her with her hands to give her some leverage to meet him thrust for thrust. The feeling of the cloth beneath her fingers was rough as she pushed and pushed and pushed, trying to match Tom’s pace.

“A fucking goddess,” Tom murmured. Hermione could feel the sweat begin to slide down her back as Tom fucked her.

“I-I need…” Hermione trailed off into a low whine when Tom’s hand left her hip and slipped around to begin mashing her clit. It was exactly what she needed. Tom’s hand tightened around the back of her neck, and Hermione was gone. She came so hard, so suddenly her vision went completely white. She dimly registered Tom’s roar above her as he collapsed on top of her.

A cold wind blew through them both as every one of Tom’s wraithly followers pushed their way through the circle and through Tom and Hermione’s overheated bodies, depositing the last bit of their magic as they went. When they were gone, Hermione felt stronger. Stronger than she ever had in her life. Not just physically, but magically too. It crackled through her veins.

She pushed Tom off of her, onto his back, and she straddled his waist. Leaning down, she pressed a fierce kiss to his mouth before reaching between them and grasping his rapidly hardening cock. She slammed herself down on top of it and arched her back, throwing her head back as she fucked herself on him.

“Fucking Salazar, witch,” Tom hissed as she set a punishingly fast pace. She needed him harder, and quicker than what they just had. She needed him brutally, and if he wasn’t going to…

Tom reached a hand up and flicked one of her nipples. It sent a line of heat straight down to her core, and she clutched her pussy around his thick cock in response. They both gasped as their increased magic stores sparkled from Tom’s fingertips to Hermione’s nipples. She stopped moving as they watched the light blue spark dance over her skin.

Hermione looked at Tom in surprise. “Do it again,” she demanded.

Tom shook his head as if he wasn’t quite sure how he’d done it, to begin with, but then he must have managed it because this time, he brought both hands up and let a spark from each hand crackle against her nipples. They tightened at the stimulus and the spark that traveled down to Hermione’s clit this time was less spark and more tidal wave.

“Oh, fucking gods, do it again,” Hermione panted as she began rocking her hips. It was almost painful, this electric charge, this pure magic that Tom was sending through her body, but it was what she needed.

She placed her hands on Tom’s chest and thought about sending a spark flicker across his skin, and one jumped out from the center of her palm, weaving around his skin until it found his nipple. Tom’s back arched, and he pumped into Hermione’s rocking hips, hitting her cervix each time.

“That’s new,” Tom panted. “Is it… it’s a little…” he trailed off as Hermione did it again, this time with both hands. “Painful,” he groaned, but Hermione could feel his cock swelling inside her.

“But feels good too,” Hermione said.

Tom nodded his agreement. “Feels fucking amazing. Not sure I can go back to regular sex after this.”

Hermione tossed her head back and laughed. Tom took the opportunity to roll them over. He grasped each of her hands, holding them down on either side of her head as he began moving inside her. They caught each other's eyes and Hermione thought it would be awkward, but it wasn’t. It increased her awareness of him and his magic. His dark, blue eyes bored into hers as he plunged in and out of her faster and faster.

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione groaned as suddenly the spring in her that had been winding tighter and tighter and tighter sprung free with a snap. Her back arched almost painfully, and her entire skin sparked magic between her and Tom. Tom held her down as he continued pumping, continued chasing his own climax.

The moment he came, his own magic sparked all over his body, sparking against Hermione’s skin and she was thrown over the edge of bliss once again, almost surprisingly fast. The sparking slowly calmed, and Tom was still inside her, still half-hard despite two orgasms in rather a quick succession.

“That was…” Tom trailed off, and Hermione found she still couldn’t tear her eyes from him. She had her legs wrapped around his back, and she flexed them, pulling him tighter to her. Tom closed his eyes with a groan, dropping his forehead to hers. “Merlin, fucking Circe.”

“Think it’ll be like this always now?” Hermione asked. She concentrated and found she was able to send the magic sparks across Tom’s skin anew.

“I don’t know,” Tom groaned, and Hermione felt him growing hard again. “But I’m planning to take advantage of it, just in case.” The look he sent her was positively indecent, and Hermione grinned up at him. She pressed her lips to his and found she cared less about the permanent power boost and more about exploring whatever this new magic was between her and Tom.

* * *

_January 2003_

_Madame Staccio’s Teahouse_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Hermione tapped her fingers against her thigh nervously. She was due to meet Pansy and Millie in a few minutes, but couldn’t quite bring herself to go inside the teahouse. She didn’t really want to sit through tea with two Slytherins who would parse everything she said, looking for a weakness. She’d much rather be back at her flat with Tom. They’d barely left the bed in the last few days and the winter holiday would be ending in another day. She’d have to go back to work, away from Tom for hours at a time.

 _You love him_ , a voice whispered in her head, and Hermione shook it fiercely. He’d taken to calling her love with increasing frequency, and Hermione worried about what that meant. Was he truly in love with her? Harry’s voice kept reminding her that as a product of a love potion that Tom wasn’t capable of love, but even if it wasn’t love, there was devotion. She took a deep breath. It didn’t matter if Tom loved her. She’d committed herself to this course of action and she couldn’t back out now. She wouldn’t let Tom loose without at least someone acting as his moral compass.

Hermione pushed the door to the shop open and spotted Pansy and Millie immediately. They were on the other side of the room in a deep booth. Madame Staccio’s was well known for its privacy booths. The walls were lined with them: each with heavy, sound dampening curtains ready to be pulled shut should the conversation require it. Hermione could see a few gorgeous, damask curtains pulled closed, although it was rather early for tea and there were a few people around in booths with the curtains open.

For those patrons unable to afford the privacy booths, there were many small tables scattered about the shop. Hermione made her way through them as she steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation to come.

“Hermione!” Millie greeted her warmly and enthusiastically, kissing the air above both cheeks in the style of the continent. Pansy greeted her just as warmly, and Hermione was already on edge by what that meant.

“Seriously, Hermione, relax,” Pansy said several moments later after the waitress had been by with the tea things. “We’re not closing the curtains. We told you. We want you to be our friend.”

“I didn’t think Slytherin’s had friends,” Hermione muttered without thinking.

Millie smirked then laughed. “Of course, Slytherin’s have friends. Besides, you’re with _the_ Slytherin now. Which makes you one of us. And Slytherins look after their own.”

Hermione pursed her lips. She thought about whether she could trust them or not. She wanted to; she desperately felt like she needed a friend, but their shared history was ugly at best.

“What do we have to do to earn your trust?” Millie asked, suddenly serious.

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe I just need time. I…” She took a deep breath, “you're not wrong. I do need a friend or two, but I just…” she shrugged.

“I get it, Hermione. Really I do,” Pansy said. She reached across the table and grasped Hermione’s hand. “We’ll give you time, but we aren’t going to give you up. Bi-weekly tea dates begin now. Besides, didn’t you ask for gossip updates?” Pansy wiggled her eyebrows at Hermione, and she finally relaxed enough to laugh.

“Alright, what gossip do you have for me?”

“Well, Tom is very well respected by his peers, as I’m sure you could have guessed from Tuesday night.” Hermione nodded. “What you may not know, is how _feared_ he is from the older generation.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked. She’d tried to keep tabs on what Tom had been doing, but between her job and the stress over Harry and Ron, she’d sort of lost track for a few weeks.

“He’s gotten enough seats on the Wizengamot to call for an election of unfilled seats,” Millie said.

Hermione knew a little about the Wizengamot, but not enough and it must have shown because Pansy went on to explain.

“Traditionally, the Wizengamot seats are passed down family to family. Occasionally, if a family goes extinct, they may election off a seat. But because of the last two wars, there are loads of seats that either weren’t filled or belonged to extinct families. And the Wizengamot wasn’t doing anything about it. Because they all had a quorum. But Tom started convincing people to take seats if they were available to them. So like, Nott took his father’s. Draco petitioned for and won the Black seat—”

“But that’s Harry’s!” Hermione interrupted.

“Potter didn’t object. He allowed Draco to take it. I’ve actually taken the Selwyn seat as my mother was a Selwyn and Millie took the Bulstrode seat. We had enough of a vote to call for an election of the rest.”

Hermione knew there were a hundred Wizengamot seats. “How many to be electioned off?”

“Fifteen,” Millie said.

“So many?”

“That’s how long this Wizengamot hasn’t been electioning off seats. There are twenty-five of us, the New Guard, Tom calls us. With an additional fifteen, we’ll still be in the minority, but too big for the majority to call a quorum. We might actually get something done.” Pansy sounded so passionate as she talked about it that Hermione found herself nodding along.

“And we might annoy some of the old-timers into quitting,” Millie added. “There are a few who might be swayed, but not many. And if we can get them to give up their seat, all the better.”

“So when is the election?” Hermione asked.

“Three weeks,” Pansy said.

“So soon? Why hasn’t there been anything in the _Daily Prophet_ about it?” Hermione asked.

“The Wizengamot is attempting to block the election. If those seats are not filled, then they have an option to get rid of them entirely,” Pansy warned.

“Merlin,” Hermione breathed as she thought about the implication of that.

“Exactly, so there will be lots of gatherings over the next few weeks to not only discuss the election but persuade people to vote,” Millie explained.

“Who’s running?” Hermione asked.

“Tom, for one,” Pansy said. “The Gaunt seat has been empty too long, and the Wizengamot wouldn’t let him take it up. Especially since he made _you_ the Gaunt heir.”

Hermione felt herself flush. “You know about that?”

She fully expected Pansy and Millie to laugh at her, but they didn’t. Millie shrugged. “We do. And the reason Tom did it was that he wasn’t going to get a seat on the Wizengamot without an election, so it truly didn’t matter. And if it got you a vault at Gringotts…” Millie shrugged again.

“Right,” Hermione nodded and sipped at her now cold tea as she mulled over everything they had told her. “How can I help?”

“We thought you’d never ask,” Pansy said with a wolfish grin. 

* * *

_January 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

Tom still couldn’t believe the power boost he’d had since New Year’s Eve. He rarely had to use his wand. And his nonverbal magic worked better than it ever had in the past. He could feel the power flowing through his veins; something he’d never felt prior to now. Magic had always seemed so _innate_ , and now he could _feel_ it. It was intoxicating, to say the least.

He especially loved that it was _Hermione_ who had decided on ritual. It hadn’t been a ritual bordering on Dark; it _was_ Dark magic. He’d been in awe when he’d seen the number of followers he’d had in the past; but when he thought about collecting those powerful individuals over fifty years, it didn’t seem like such a large number. Although, the fact that so many of them were dead was a testament to how horrific his previous rise to power had been. It was another nail in the coffin to the road that led to Horcruxes.

The power boost from New Year’s Eve wasn’t the only coup that evening. Hermione’s integration into the pure-blood circles couldn’t have gone better if he had orchestrated it himself. Which, truthfully, he hadn’t done more than suggest to Millie and Pansy that Hermione could use a few friends. He had hinted that Potter and Weasley weren’t in the picture and the women had done the rest.

He hadn’t imagined that Hermione would take to politicking like a hippogriff to flight. She wasn’t a natural Slytherin, although she _was_ very observant. Tom realized he would have to be careful with what he did and said around her because it seemed nothing went over her head. The moment Millie and Pansy had suggested that the old guard was going to abolish seats in the Wizengamot, Hermione had begun campaigning with him and without him. She’d spoken to every Ministry contact she had about voting and even went out of her way to speak with everyone who even bothered to wave or smile at her.

Hermione’s minor celebrity was still something Tom couldn’t quite understand, but she used it to her advantage. Encouraging everyone who would listen to vote in the upcoming Wizengamot election. She didn’t directly tell people to vote for _him_ , although Tom had heard her mention his name in connection with her own and imagined that was enough for some of them. The Slytherin qualities she had shown over the last three weeks only served to make Tom admire her all the more.

He was hesitant to say that he loved her. He wasn’t quite sure he _could_ love someone, but he found himself using terms of endearment so much more than he had in the past. And the thought of giving her up for any reason was out of the question. Hermione belonged to him. And Tom took care of his things. End of story.

When he did win the election into the Wizengamot, Tom wasn’t even the least bit surprised. Seeing Hermione grin happily at him as the news came down through the Atrium of the Ministry had been the icing on the cake. Foregoing their mutual disdain for public displays of affection, Hermione threw her arms around Tom and pressed a congratulatory kiss to his lips. The electric quality to their magic when engaging in amorous activities since the last sex ritual was there. It was always there. It bounced between them, and Tom groaned as he felt himself harden in response. He wanted nothing more than to take her there in the middle of the Ministry. But like any good politician, he kept the kiss chaste and broke from her.

The glint in her eyes promised a good evening to come, and Tom found he couldn’t wait, even as congratulations flowed in from all around them.

“Let me take you out,” Tom breathed once he had found Hermione again in the crowd. “Just us. To celebrate.”

“Alright,” Hermione agreed readily enough. She had stopped questioning Tom’s mysterious funding source and, now that he’d been elected to the Wizengamot, he would draw a salary. He couldn’t believe everything was falling into place so neatly. 

* * *

_January 2003_

_Pierre’s_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

“How did you even get a table?” Hermione breathed as Tom held the door open to Pierre’s, the most exclusive restaurant in Diagon Alley.

“I have my sources,” Tom grinned down at her. She had dressed for the occasion and took Tom’s breath away with the cocktail dress she had donned. Tom had encouraged Hermione to listen to Pansy and Millie’s fashion advice and was pleased to see the changes in her wardrobe over the last few weeks.

“Well, I’m quite excited,” Hermione said. “I hear their wine list is to die for.”

“Indeed, Miss Granger,” the maître d'hôtel said as he guided Tom and Hermione to a small private booth.

Tom grinned as he placed a hand on the small of Hermione’s back. Everyone who was anyone was in Pierre’s; Ministry department heads, Wizengamot members, leaders of industry, and Tom was sure he spotted the Minister himself in the back of the restaurant. Tom hoped they were all shaking in their boots after that day’s election. Not only had Tom won, but so did fourteen of his followers. The ones who weren’t already holding Wizengamot seats. The quorum enjoyed by the old guard was successfully broken.

“Well,” Hermione said once they were settled and had chosen a bottle of wine. “What are you plans Warlock Evans?”

Tom grinned wolfishly at her and then eyed the rest of the establishment who were so obviously ignoring them. Probably hoping to snub them, although Tom believed that it was impossible to be snubbed if one didn’t care what others thought.

“Mmm, my immediate future, Miss Granger, hopefully, involves a lovely witch and perhaps a moment taken to worship her between her creamy thighs.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped in shock. “Here?”

“Merlin willing,” Tom grinned. He slipped his hand beneath the table and walked his fingers up her thigh, gathering the skirt of her dress as he went.

“Tom!” Hermione hissed, glancing about the restaurant.

“Nobody is watching. You just have to sit and try to relax as I work my way through my victory feast,” Tom whispered. He leaned over and nuzzled her neck.

“Tom, what if the maître d’ or waiter comes or something,” Hermione groaned softly as Tom captured the lobe of her ear in his mouth and sucked on it.

“Then you can let them know I’m in the loo and they can come back when I’ve returned to my seat,” Tom said. He’d finally reached his goal and stroked his fingers over the quickly dampening cloth of her knickers.

“I won’t be able to keep quiet!” Hermione whispered fiercely.

“Then you better come quickly,” Tom said as he delved his fingers beneath the cloth of her knickers.

“Fuck,” Hermione panted and stood the menu in front of her. Tom looked around the restaurant once more to find every back turned to them. He slipped beneath the tablecloth to find Hermione’s legs spread widely before him. He chuckled to himself at her protestations. She clearly wanted this as much as he did.

He Vanished her knickers and snorted when he heard her cover her gasp with a fake cough. This was going to be so much fun. He breathed in her scent, leaning as far forward as he could, and gripped her hips, sliding her further down the seat until her cunt was directly in front of his face. Hermione lifted one leg and placed it over his shoulders. Tom took the hint and placed the other one there. If there was anywhere in the world Tom felt he could spend infinite time in; it was here. Between Hermione’s creamy thighs, surrounded by the musk of her scent.

She tried to reach a hand down to grasp Tom’s hair, and he batted it away, then bit her thigh in warning. Tom licked her lips softly then opened them with one hand. She was so wet already, and he’d barely touched her. He fucking loved this about her: how ready and willing she was at all times. She never told him,no, and some of the things _she’d_ come up with in the bedroom were things Tom hadn’t even heard of; she was impossibly inventive. Tom sighed, breathing his hot breath over her cunt, before dipping his tongue inside her opening.

Hermione’s thighs tightened around his ears, and she bucked her hips into his face. Tom wrapped an arm around each thigh, holding her down, and began going to work. He alternated fucking her with his tongue and tonguing her clit. She grew wetter and wetter, and Tom could feel her thighs tense the closer she got to her orgasm.

So far, he’d kept his fingers away, knowing the moment he plunged them into her, she’d fall apart.

“Uh… he’s in the…” Hermione coughed as Tom wrapped his lips around her clit. “Loo. He’ll be back,” she choked out as Tom began to suck on her clit. Then he released one of her thighs and drove two fingers into her waiting cunt.

Her pussy tightened so hard around his hand; he couldn’t move his fingers even if he wanted too. He was able to curl them slightly, and Tom felt her cunt clutch his hand over and over again. When he decided she’d had enough, he removed his hand, licking it clean. Then he cleaned her thighs and pussy lips with his tongue before sliding back into his chair, next to Hermione.

She had the menu propped up on the table in front of her and was completely slouched behind it, hidden from view. Her face was red, and her careful chignon started to come apart. Tom chuckled at the sight and leaned over to help her sit up.

“I thought we were celebrating you,” Hermione hummed contentedly. “Because that definitely felt like it was about me.”

“Oh, I assure you, I enjoyed that thoroughly,” Tom replied. He grabbed her hand and placed it on his lap, squeezing her fingers around his hard cock. “Besides, I imagine you’ll have a surprise or two for me when we get home.”

“Oh, Merlin, do I,” Hermione grinned at him.


	11. Treachery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: RachaelLA26 was the beta extraordinaire! If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr crochetawayhpff or facebook Shan Crochetaway.**

* * *

_February 2003_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Tom returned from an evening spent at Theo’s to find Hermione surrounded by books. It was a sight he was becoming more and more used to. She was a very thorough researcher, and at the moment, her mind was still on sex magic, which only pleased Tom. It wasn’t just about the sex, which was the best he’d ever had, but it was about the single-minded way Hermione dove into the subject and wanted to know and try _everything_. It was the way he felt he had seduced her to seeing how magic couldn’t so easily be divided into Light and Dark magic. If he could convince Hermione, a consummate Gryffindor most of the time, he had hopes that he could eventually convince the rest of wizarding society.

Dark magic was only Dark because it was more _powerful_ . And leaders of societies had always been terrified of things they didn’t understand and that they thought or perceived as more powerful than them. Tom broke that mold. He wanted to lead his society to a place where they regularly used those more powerful magics because they were _better_. Tom saw Dark magic like new technology, even though it wasn’t new at all. Dark magic was often much older than magic classified as Light, and Tom knew that if more people practiced Dark magic, then it would only get better. More powerful magic, that was practiced enough to be improved upon? That’s where Tom wanted to see wizarding Britain go.

“So, you never did tell me your plans?” Hermione said without looking up from her parchment and quill.

Tom laughed. “I guess I haven’t. It’s nothing concrete really. I want to build a better world without becoming like the snake-face that I used to be.” Tom curled his lip. He’d seen a pensieve memory of what he had looked like earlier that night, and it made his stomach roll at the thought. He settled himself onto the floor next to her, idly flipping through her pile of books.

Hermione glanced up at him sharply. “How do you know what you looked like?”

“Draco shared a pensieve with me tonight,” Tom said solemnly.

Hermione’s face scrunched, and she sighed. “Draco probably had it as bad as we ever did during the war.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked. He liked the fact that she sympathized with Draco. He was sure part of it was because Hermione seemed to care about everyone, but also that perhaps she wasn’t so opposed to some of his deeper schemes. The ones he hadn’t told her about.

“Well, you lived in his house for one,” Hermione said. She looked up at him, biting her lip as if trying to decide how much to tell him. “And well, I’m not sure exactly what Draco showed you, but I suspect he wouldn’t have shown you the worst of it. You were… not just hideous, but monstrous. You fed people to your snake, which was a Horcrux. So ponder that for a moment and see if that doesn’t make you feel ill. Actually, you fed the Hogwarts Muggle Studies professor to your snake in front of Draco. I’m guessing he still has nightmares about that. I know I would.

“And that’s not even getting into the fact that you allowed Fenrir Greyback to run wild.” Hermione shuddered, and Tom wondered what she knew of this Fenrir Greyback. She seemed to fear him.

“Is Greyback dead?” Tom asked.

Hermione nodded. “Casualty of the Final Battle, thank Merlin. But that’s the point, Tom. You were _awful_. And having to live with you? You threatened his parents, gave him an impossible task. You were worse to Draco than probably any other Death Eater if nothing else for the fact that he was so young.”

“Why?” Tom asked. Draco wasn’t an idiot, and Tom couldn’t imagine what he’d done to piss him off so much.

“Because Draco’s father failed to get something for you. So you punished the whole family, by punishing Draco.”

“Fucking Salazar,” Tom hissed, recoiling from that tidbit of information. That was the sort of hippogriff shit he was trying to stamp out in the old guard.

“Right, so Draco probably had it worse than any of us. And you know the kicker to all of this?” Hermione was looking at him insistently then.

“Even Draco knew that having you win, in the incarnation that you were then, was only going to be bad for him and the rest of the world. Hell, the whole Malfoy family knew.”

“Why do you say that?” Tom asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all of this. It’s history, and yet, most of it people don’t know. It’s not history anyone will write down…” she trailed off looking thoughtful for a moment. “You read _Harry Potter - The Chosen One_ , right?”

Tom nodded, recalling he’d found it on her bookshelf in Albania all those months ago.

“Right, well during the war, we broke the Taboo. You put a Taboo on the name ‘Lord Voldemort,’ and we were taken by Snatchers—not-quite Death Eaters—and brought to Malfoy Manor. I-It’s hard for me to talk about because I was tortured there,” Tom felt his blood boil at the thought that someone had tortured Hermione, “but the important thing is that Draco knew who we were. He _knew_. I knew he knew, and he didn’t say anything. He lied to his parents; said he couldn’t be sure. He lied to his aunt, your right-hand lieutenant, and told them he didn’t recognize us. It bought us enough time to get away.” Hermione shrugged and turned from him, but Tom wasn’t going to let this go. He grasped her chin lightly, urging her to look at him.

“Who tortured you?” Tom asked, his voice low and threatening.

“She’s dead too,” Hermione said. “Also, not the point. The point is that you—”

“Not me,” Tom insisted. “That wasn’t me, and it’s not going to be me.”

“Right, but still. The war was hard. Harder on people my age than most, for a whole host of reasons.”

“Another reason the old guard has to go,” Tom hissed.

“See, that’s a policy I can get behind,” Hermione smiled at him.

“Good,” Tom breathed and leaned in, placing a kiss on her lips. “Now we just need to get you out of the DRCMC and into the DMLE.”

“Tom,” Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes.

“You should be making the laws, not enforcing them,” Tom insisted. It was an argument they had been having with increasing frequency. “The DRCMC is a waste of your brilliance.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Hermione said. “But I’m not about to use your new role to better myself. I’ll figure something out.”

Tom pursed his lips but didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled her from her books and led her back to their bedroom. There were more pleasurable pursuits than arguing about her dead-end career. 

* * *

_February 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

“Hermione! We have to talk,” Harry said tightly from outside Hermione’s cubicle. Hermione sighed, knowing that this had been coming for weeks, but Harry had been away on assignment. It seemed her reprieve from his shouting was over.

“Not here,” she snapped as she stood and grabbed Harry’s wrist. She guided him into the shared conference room and waved her hand, moving the sign to ‘Occupied’ as she shoved Harry inside and shut the door.

“You need to kill him, you know?” Harry began the moment he was in the conference room.

Hermione sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you insist on that being the only solution, Harry. You know I’m not going to do that.”

“He’s on the Wizengamot now!”

“I’m not living under a rock, Harry. I’m quite aware of what Tom is doing. And quite frankly, I agree with some of his viewpoints.”

Harry recoiled as if struck. “You’re fucking insane; you know that, right?”

“Why? Because I think there could stand to be a little change in the stagnancy of the wizarding world? Or is it because I believe that people can change? Or that a person who is twenty-four is different than he is at seventy-seven?! Which one of those makes me insane, Harry Potter?”

“If you don’t kill him, I will,” Harry threatened.

“Be reasonable, Harry. Nobody knows who he is and if you kill him, I’ll know who did it. Do you really think the fame of being Harry Potter will keep you out of Azkaban for murdering a rising young star in the Wizengamot?

“Besides, it’s obvious he isn’t into blood purity anymore. He’s just trying to _help_ the wizarding world. He’s doing more good than you or I are with our Ministry jobs,” Hermione said.

Harry laughed, and Hermione did not like the sound. He sounded bitter and slightly insane. “I never took you for a lovesick fool, Hermione Granger,” Harry spat.

“Did you forget that I went to you, Harry, all those months ago? And you turned your back on me. Told me it was my problem and I had to deal with it. Well, I’ve found a way to deal with it. So fuck you.”

“No, Hermione. Fuck you. I’m going to kill him. Mark my words,” Harry said, deadly quiet. He opened the door of the conference room with so much force that it bounced off the wall and slammed shut after he’d walked through the doorway.

Hermione had no idea what to do. Harry had just told her he planned to kill Tom. She needed to warn him. But Harry had been her friend since they were eleven. She didn’t want him to get hurt, no matter how much of an arse he was to her. She ran her hands through her hair as she thought through the implications of that conversation and decided she should head back to her desk and maybe write out a list of probabilities. Arithmancy had always calmed her in the past; perhaps now it would help her figure out what she should do next.

On the way back to her desk, Hermione decided a cup of tea would help settle her nerves. Her hands were shaking, and she needed something to help calm her down. A tea cart was usually stationed just outside the door of her office, so she made her way there, mulling over Harry’s words. It’s not that she didn’t believe him, but she did wonder how he thought he could get away with it. Nobody knew who Tom was. And, probably, more importantly, nobody would _believe_ Harry if he started trying to spout off about _who_ Tom really was. Hermione was savvy enough to realize that all of the connections Tom had made in the past few months would protect him from that.

No, the real problem was if Harry started rallying the DA and Order crowd. They _would_ believe Harry and Ron. And they were the ones who might cause the most trouble for Tom. And by extension Hermione. She sighed, giving the witch behind the tea cart her order as she drummed her fingers against her thigh. She would have to tell Tom, but she didn’t really want to tell him now. Harry would tip his hand somehow, Hermione _knew_ that about him. Harry always tipped his hand, and he was particularly bad about keeping things from her. Although, since they weren’t really talking, maybe he could surprise her? A knot that had formed in her belly during her conversation with Harry, twisted and Hermione felt like she might be ill at the thought of Harry actually succeeding in killing Tom.

The witch handed her a to-go cup of tea and Hermione thanked her as she walked back through the doors of her office. The main door led to the bullpen area where Hermione and the rest of the support staff sat. The rest of the office was ringed with larger offices and conference rooms on the outside walls. It was as she was passing her boss’ office that she overheard her name.

“...Granger’s doing…” the voice got quiet enough that Hermione couldn’t hear it anymore. She frowned and cast a wandless, nonverbal Notice-Me-Not on herself. Then she stepped right up to the door of the office, pressing her ear to the glass.

A deep rumbly voice was speaking about departmental assignments, and Hermione almost walked away when the sound of the voice clicked, and she realized that it was Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, speaking to her boss. Why in the world was Kingsley all the way down here? In all her years at the Ministry, Hermione was sure she’d never seen him in the DRCMC.

“What have you got Granger working on?” Kingsley asked.

Her boss chuckled. “Shite work. Just something to keep her busy.”

Hermione gasped. She covered her mouth quickly and glanced around, hoping nobody heard that. It seemed her Notice-Me-Not charm held because she was completely ignored.

“Good, keep that activist bitch busy. These shakeups in the Wizengamot are wreaking havoc on _everything_. The last thing I need is for her to be anywhere near them. She’s got too much popularity with the masses,” Kingsley said.

Hermione’s body felt like it was burning as the rage built inside her.  What the fuck had she been doing with her life? Had her _entire_ career been tampered with in this way? She’d actually thought that Kingsley was one of the good guys. It seemed he was more of the same from the past. She’d never used whatever _influence_ she carried with him out of respect for their friendship. Obviously, there was no friendship. Nevermind the fact that she’d saved his life on the back of that thestral in the battle of Seven Potters. That fucking arsehole!

Trying to breathe deeply, to calm herself, Hermione found that task was going to be impossible. There was no way she was going to be able to sit meekly at her desk doing ‘shite work’ while her boss yucked it up with the Minister for Magic behind her back. Hermione had half a mind to march into her boss’s office and demand to know what the fuck was actually going on in this Ministry, but she knew that was the Gryffindor in her. She needed to not fuck things up for Tom. Better for her to pretend she hadn’t overheard that horrific conversation.

And Kingsley. Not only was he purposely keeping her away from meaningful work, but he was using her celebrity to get what he wanted. It made her skin crawl. It was fine for Hermione to use her celebrity on Tom’s behalf, Tom didn’t really want her for that, it was a side benefit. But for someone else? Someone she’d thought was a friend? Honestly, she kind of wanted to hex Kingsley. But she knew that would get her nowhere. Perhaps Tom would duel her later. She needed to hex something.

Hermione dumped her full teacup into her trash can and picked up her purse. She wasn’t staying, and she certainly wasn’t begging off from her boss. They weren’t going to fire her, and if they did, all the better for her. She wouldn’t have to figure out how to leave her job and not burn bridges at the same time. Maybe she wouldn’t show up tomorrow either? She wondered how long she could _not_ show up to work before they finally decided to fire her?

Hermione stormed out her office and toward the Atrium. She was too angry to Apparate and decided to Floo back to her flat. Tom had picked up a lovely bottle of red wine over the weekend; perhaps she would crack that open when she got home.

In her anger, Hermione almost forgot about her argument with Harry. When someone on her lift got off on the DMLE floor, Harry’s words came flooding back to her. Merlin, fucking shite, she was having a bad day. She wondered if it could get worse, and then immediately cursed herself, again. Of course, it could get worse.

But perhaps her bad luck for the day had run out.

Halfway across the Atrium, Hermione remembered she had planned on stopping by the grocers on her way home. They had almost nothing for dinner, and since Tom had started in the Wizengamot, they had been sharing dinner preparation duties. Hermione sighed and decided she’d Apparate after all. There was a small corner grocer near her flat in Diagon Alley; she’d go there and then go home and open that bottle of wine.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione joined the queue for the Apparition chamber and mentally flipped through some of the recipes they’d made recently for ones that she knew what ingredients were needed and would be easy enough to make.

Finally, it was her turn to use the chamber, and she pictured the small alley outside the grocer and disappeared with a small pop.

It was snowing when she landed in the alley outside the grocers. Hermione stomped her feet, trying to get the feeling back in her legs when she felt the sting of a curse graze her arm. She fumbled for a moment before whipping out her wand, looking all around her for the threat. Nobody was paying her any attention. There was no panic, no pandemonium. Perhaps it was just an accident?

It seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened. She slowly spun in a circle, assessing everything around her again, but didn’t find anything out of place. She had just taken a step forward toward the main alley and the door to the grocer when she was hit with a stinging hex, this time on her calf. She spun in a circle, trying to find her attacker but again, nobody was even _looking_ at her.

 _Must be Disillusioned_ , she thought grimly. Once was perhaps an accident, but twice was no accident. She was clearly being targeted. But by whom?

“Show yourself,” Hermione said loudly, facing the back of the dead-end alley.

Nothing but the wind and the snow. She began backing slowly toward Diagon when a flurry of curses came her way. Hermione blocked and dodged as many as she could, but they came hard and fast, was there more than one attacker? She had to think so with how fast the magic was coming her way. She could finally hear someone panting and perhaps that was a different person muttering their curses under their breath.

Hermione had backed away during the volley of curses and suddenly found herself against a wall. Fuck, the last thing she needed. She had been trying to draw them out to Diagon, but apparently, they had been subtly guiding her until her back was against a wall.

The number of curses grew, and it was everything Hermione could do to hold them off when a Knockback Jinx caught her shoulder, and her head slammed back into the wall behind her. She faltered on her feet for a moment before consciousness left her and she slumped to the cold, wet, snow-covered ground. 

* * *

_February 2003_

_Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

* * *

Hermione didn’t know how long she was out for, but she didn’t think it was too long. Her head was killing her, but her robes weren’t too wet. Nor was she completely covered in snow, despite the fact it was coming down quite steadily. She glanced around the alley, looking for her attackers, but either they had gone, or decided she’d had enough.

She stood on shaky legs and was able to make it to Diagon without being accosted again. Her stomach rolled, and she forewent the grocers in favor of just going home. She knew she shouldn’t have thought her day couldn’t get worse.


	12. Backlash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: RachaelLA26 beta'd this chapte as usual! If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! I make a new mood board for each chapter of this story, find them on my Tumblr crochetawayhpff, my facebook Shan Crochetaway, or on the AO3 or Wattpad versions.**
> 
> **Also, I'm not sure I've said, but this story is 18 chapters long and complete! So six more chapters to go after this one!**

__

* * *

_February 2003_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Tom knew that he would enjoy the intrigue of the Wizengamot and he wasn’t disappointed. He’d only been on the legislature for a few weeks, but he took to it like a Kappa to water. He couldn’t wait until he could really begin laying the groundwork for his eventual overhaul of the entire government. He had already started feeling people out and deciding who could be useful and who had to go. It was thrilling and Tom enjoyed every bit of it.

He was surprised when he returned home to a dark flat. He’d thought Hermione would be home already, as she often was home earlier than him these days.

“Hello? Hermione?” Tom called out as he stepped out of the Floo.

“I’m here,” Hermione murmured from the couch.

Tom waved his hand, lighting the candles and was shocked at Hermione’s appearance. She had blood in her hair, and her cloak was soaked in places. She hadn’t even taken it off. She was shivering and Tom rushed to her side, his wand in his hand to cast a diagnostic over her.

“What happened?” Tom asked when he was sure the diagnostic was showing nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. The cut on the back of her head had scabbed over already, but Tom cleaned it the best he could through her bushy hair. Hermione was silent through his ministrations.

“Hermione?” Tom said, holding her hands in his. She was still shivering, so Tom Vanished her cloak and cast a warming spell on the robes beneath. “Hey, Hermione?” he cupped her cheek, bringing her face to look at his. Her eyes were glassy with either shock or tears or both. “What happened, love?”

Hermione blinked her eyes and seemed to rouse for a moment, finally looking him in the eyes and Tom swore then and there that whoever had done this to her would pay.

“I was attacked,” she whispered.

“Oh, love,” Tom pulled her to him and hugged her close for a moment. Then he pulled back to look her in the eyes again. “Can you tell me what happened?” A sudden, sickening thought occurred to him and he recast his diagnostic charm, this time on her entire body. He breathed a sigh when he realized she hadn’t been raped.

“I was going to the grocer on the corner,” Hermione said, her voice still a low whisper. “They were Disillusioned. I couldn’t see them. At first, I thought… I thought it was just a prank. A stray spell. But then they came on fast and I tried…” she trailed off and the first tear spilled out from her eyes and traced down her cheeks.

Tom had never seen Hermione cry in all the months they’d been together and to see her brought so low now made his blood boil. He wanted to fucking murder someone. Tear them limb from limb. His vision went almost completely red before he was able to get a hold on his emotions.

“Shh, it’s alright Hermione. You’re safe now,” he murmured as she cried into his chest. “You’re safe and I’ll fucking decimate anyone who dares come for you again.”

“That’s just it, Tom,” Hermione said, pushing back from his chest. “I’m a grown fucking witch! I should be able to take care of myself! But they were casting so quickly, I-I couldn’t keep up and—”

“Do you think there was more than one?” Tom asked seriously. “Disillusionment charm? Could you see the—”

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “I thought Disillusionment charm, but I couldn’t tell. I should have been able to tell when they moved to cast, but I couldn’t.” She shook her head and Tom wondered if perhaps she had just been too stressed, too anxious, to notice something as subtle as the shimmer of a Disillusionment charm.

“That’s… that’s actually not the only reason I’m upset,” Hermione said after a few moments. She seemed to pull herself together, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I overheard something today.”

“What was it?” Tom asked, knitting his brows.

“I overheard my boss and the Minister—”

“Shacklebolt was in your department?” Tom asked. Why would Shacklebolt ever even bother with the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? Yes, it was a large part of the Ministry, but not something the Minister himself usually bothered with.

“He was talking to my boss about _me_ ,” Hermione said. Suddenly she stood from the sofa and began pacing the room. “He called me an activist bitch, Tom. And said that they had to keep me busy to keep me away from what was happening in the Wizengamot.”

“What?” Tom suddenly felt like some things about this post-war world were clicking into place. He knew that Hermione considered Shacklebolt a friend, something to do with the Order of the Phoenix and their role in the war.

“What could he mean by that? I mean, he said something about my celebrity too, although if I’m getting attacked in the street, I can’t be too famous,” Hermione laughed bitterly.

“I don’t think Shacklebolt has your best interests at heart, Hermione,” Tom began. “I think it’s probably time to start thinking about leaving the DRCMC.”

“I—”

“Hang on, let me finish,” Tom said. “I think the Minister is holding you back on purpose. What about your friends Potter and Weasley, their Aurors right?”

“Yes.”

Tom nodded. “Did they want you to be an Auror too?” Hermione nodded. “Aurors are trained like a military force. Obey their commander. There’s very little thinking outside the chain of command. _You_ would never settle for that sort of life. So they put you somewhere they can keep you down. Somewhere you can’t ever advance in.”

“Well, maybe I haven’t yet, but—”

“Hermione, it’s been what three, four years? They aren’t going to give you a promotion. You still have to get tea for your boss for Merlin’s sake!”

“I know,” Hermione said. “It’s just hard to wrap my mind around.”

“I don’t understand why though?” Tom muttered. “Why bother giving you a job at all? Unless it’s to keep you under their thumb?”

Hermione flushed and looked away, and Tom realized there was more.

“What are you keeping from me?” Tom asked.

“I may not have been officially pardoned for my war crimes,” Hermione admitted.

“War crimes? You were a teenager for crying out loud!” Tom shouted. “What war crimes?”

“Breaking into the Ministry, Gringotts, and Hogwarts,” Hermione whispered, looking at the empty fireplace instead of him.

“Were Potter and Weasley?” Tom asked.

“Had to be in order to be Aurors. Can’t have a record as an Auror.”

“Fuck’s sake, Hermione,” Tom growled. “Why do you let them do this to you? You have power! You have celebrity! Why don’t you use it?”

“I just never thought it was that important,” Hermione shrugged. “I knew I was going to spend my career at the Ministry, I assumed they’d take care of me.”

“I didn’t realize you were so naive,” Tom muttered.

“That’s not fair,” Hermione said. She turned and threw him a hurt look before storming from the room and slamming their bedroom door.

“Fuck,” Tom growled, running his hands through his hair. Another problem he was going to have to fix as soon as possible; both getting her pardoned and getting her out of the DRCMC. If he could get her into the DMLE, she’d at least be better positioned. Perhaps he could get her training as a solicitor. She needed to know what her rights were and he couldn’t believe it wasn’t something she hadn’t looked up already.

Tom was suddenly grateful for the crushed Time-Turner that brought him here. He couldn’t imagine Hermione living the life she had and not having him around to protect her.

* * *

  _February 2003_

_Dover Coast_

_Kent, England_

* * *

“It’s freezing,” Hermione complained as Tom led her along the rocky coast.

“We’ll cast a warming charm inside,” Tom insisted.

“And the Inferi?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve already taken care of them,” Tom assured her. “Don’t worry. I cleansed the water too. I promise, I think you’ll really like this one.”

Hermione grumbled under her breath. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she’d like it, she always liked sex with Tom. It was more the location he’d chosen. And the time of year. Why they had to go to _this_ cave with a lake in the middle of it, in particular, she still didn’t understand. Although, Tom insisted it was perfect for the next ritual.

At least, Hermione had only heard about the cave from Harry. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to do this if she’d ever had to be in the cave. Especially with the thought of Inferi infecting the waters. She shuddered as she thought about getting into the water with Inferi. It would be a death sentence. But she knew that Tom was exceedingly careful, he wouldn’t put her in harm's way.

Finally, they made it to the entrance of the cave and Tom ushered her inside. He cast a warding charm on the opening to keep the wind and sea spray out, then began casting further charms on the cave and the lake. Hermione flicked her wand, sending out blue-bell lights all along the walls and hovering above the lake at regular intervals. If she was going to have to have sex with Tom in a lake, then she was at least going to be able to see while it happened.

Tom brought out the sacrifice bowl and a copy of the ritual they were going to be performing. After the last ritual, Tom had realized they had effectively done a fire ritual and an air ritual. If they did a water ritual and an earth ritual, they would have done one for each of the four elements. Even Hermione liked the symmetry of that. Tom thought that if they did the earth ritual last, they might be a way to tie the four of them together and increase their powers permanently once more. Hermione liked the aspect of the rituals that tied Tom to her, versus giving her more power. The power was a side benefit, but she was far more concerned with Tom being in the world without her there to temper his worst impulses.

“I think we’re ready,” Tom said. Hermione took a deep breath and approached where he was standing on the lake shore.

“How do we breathe again?” Hermione asked. She knew, she’d studied the ritual as much as Tom had, but she wanted to be sure he knew.

He snorted, “Gillyweed.” He held up a clump of the plant and Hermione smiled at him.

Tom held the knife to her, hilt first, and Hermione took it, cutting a deep line into her left palm and let the blood splatter into the bowl at their feet. Then she handed the knife to Tom and took off her robe. She shivered as Tom handed her a clump of Gillyweed and he bent to cut his own hand. Once they were both naked, they each chewed up the Gillyweed and Tom stepped into the water first. Hermione froze, waiting for the telltale hand of an Inferi, but none came. Tom arched his neck as gills began to break out and dove beneath the water. Hermione followed suit and found that not only did she have gills, but her feet and hands also became webbed and her eyes were much better suited for seeing underwater than they had been. Tom was swimming toward the center part of the lake where it was deepest. The water didn’t feel nearly as cold as she expected and she followed after Tom.

It was rather eerie to be in the underground lake. She waved her hand and a few of her blue-bell lights broke the surface of the water and sank downward, helping both her and Tom see better.

“Come here,” Tom mouthed. She couldn’t hear if he said anything, but she knew his intentions and she swam closer. When she was within reach, Tom reached his hands out and dragged her to him. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and was shocked to feel him hard already.

“Did you take something?” she tried to ask, but no sound came out. Tom cocked his head and looked confused. Hermione shook her head and pressed her lips to his. Tom returned the kiss but pulled away before they got too carried away. There was still the spell to say. Tom nodded to her and she began mouthing the words to Belisama while Tom did the same to Nodens. It was strange; Hermione hadn’t thought much of the old gods that populated the wizarding world before she met Tom and now she was making blood sacrifices to them.

When they were both finished a bright white light lit the lake from all angles and Hermione found herself crushed to Tom’s chest. He kissed her again and Hermione found the ability to kiss and breathe through her gills at the same time to be both efficient and very strange. She wondered what it would be like to suck Tom’s cock like this. She broke the kiss and grinned at him as she slowly made her way down his body. The water provided a gentle pressure, but Hermione found if she moved too far from Tom, they tended to drift apart.

She scraped her nails down his chest and cupped his balls in one hand, before pumping his cock with the other. Tom’s head tossed back and he buried his hand in her hair, gripping the roots tightly as Hermione slowly took him in her mouth. _Oh, this was good_ , she thought to herself as she successfully deepthroated him in one go. Tom convulsed against her and it was everything Hermione could do to not smirk as she slowly pulled off his cock before his hands pushed her head back onto him. She fucking loved it. They would have to incorporate Gillyweed into their regular sexual adventures. She bet it would work just as well in a bathtub as it would in a lake.

Suddenly, Tom was pulling her off and Hermione made her way back to him, looping her arms around his neck to keep him close. He pressed his forehead to hers as he fought for control. Hermione found herself trailing her fingers across his cool skin. This whole thing felt so strange, and yet, there was something erotic about it. The water cooled her heated flesh almost before it really had time to become heated.

Finally, Tom seemed to come around and he pressed a fierce kiss to her mouth, before situating himself between her legs and making them one. Hermione arched her back and quickly found the downsides to water sex. It was exceedingly difficult to find enough traction to thrust against one another. Tom was getting frustrated, so Hermione pushed on his shoulders so he was lying back. She straddled him and rocked gently against him like she would if she were riding him in bed. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. Before long, Tom’s hands were tightening around her hips and Hermione began circling her clit, ready to reach the end with him.

Her eyes fluttered as her orgasm washed over her. Tom twitched and stilled and soon they were grinning at each other. Hermione tipped forward to plant a kiss against his lips and they got too much momentum and spun in a circle in the middle of the water. She laughed silently and pointed up. Tom nodded and they swam for the surface.

“That was fun,” Tom said once their gills began receding.

“Eh, it was alright,” Hermione said. “Although, I’d like to try sucking your cock in the tub with the help of some Gillyweed sometime.”

“Oh, I think we can absolutely make that happen,” Tom growled as he pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely. Hermione responded to the kiss feeling intensely happy. Everything about this man should have terrified her, and yet, he never had. And now, he made her indescribably happy. Something she hadn’t thought was possible just a few short months ago.

“Let’s go home,” Tom breathed against her mouth once they broke apart.

* * *

  _February 2003_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Hermione sat up in bed as the dream drifted away in wisps. She tried to cling to it but found she couldn’t. The dream was gone, but the idea it had given her was not. Perhaps the reason she couldn’t see the tell-tale shimmer of a Disillusionment charm from her attackers was because they weren’t Disillusioned, but were wearing an Invisibility Cloak.

Her heart sank at the realization. Gooseflesh broke out across her limbs as she considered what that meant. Harry or Ron or both of them had attacked her. Why? It didn’t make any sense.

“Hermione?” Tom mumbled behind her.

Hermione flicked her fingers, casting a _Tempus_ charm and saw it was half past four in the morning. It was unlikely she was getting any more sleep that night.

“Bad dream,” Hermione whispered to Tom. “Go back to sleep.” She leaned over, kissing his forehead, before slipping from bed and making her way to the kitchen for some tea.

Tea helped calm her nerves and settle her stomach, but it did nothing for the absolute nausea she felt at the fact that her two oldest friends had attacked her. Her resolve in confronting them hardened as the sun rose above the horizon and she knew she would be storming through the DMLE at some point that day to discuss this with them.

She shook her head, she couldn't confront them at work. She shouldn’t. No, she would be going to Grimmauld Place directly after work to talk to them. They had to see reason about this whole situation. Tom wasn’t Voldemort. And with her guidance, he wasn’t going to become Voldemort. Why couldn’t they see that?

* * *

_February 2003_

_Grimmauld Place_

_London, England_

* * *

Hermione spent the day a jittery mess. She could hardly focus on her work and went over again and again and again in her mind every argument she planned to use against Harry and Ron. _Not against,_ her mind supplied. She nodded. Right, she wasn’t against them. They were against her, but she could get them round to her side. She just needed to explain things to them. Explain all the _good_ that Tom and his cohorts were doing.

She didn’t tell Tom anything. If anything were to happen, she could tell him that night when she got home. First, she needed to deal with Harry and Ron.

Knocking briskly on the door to Grimmauld Place, Hermione found that the wards still allowed her inside, and pushed the door open.

“Harry? Ron?” she called out, shutting the door behind her.

“In here, ‘Mione!” Ron called and Hermione climbed the stairs to the first-floor sitting room.

“This is a surprise,” Harry said. He didn’t sound all that happy about it.

“Is it?” Hermione asked. It had only been a few days since her attack, surely they would know she would figure it out.

“Of course,” Harry bit out. “Especially, since the last time you and I spoke, things were decidedly… chilly between us.”

“Because you chose to make them that way,” Hermione leveled.

“No, Hermione, it’s you who made all the choices here that led to our present situation,” Harry said. “You know what you have to do to remedy that.”

“And you know that I’m not going to do that,” Hermione snapped. “Harry, you’ve never been someone who would murder in cold-blood. What has come over you?”

“Voldemort has killed hundreds of people,” Ron began.

“Ron, he’s _not_ Voldemort! He’s twenty-four! He’s not the madman who created Horcruxes and murdered people on whims! That’s not who he is. And that’s not who he’s going to be! You should give him a chance, hear what he has to say. Hear what his plans are for our society.”

“You sound like a Death Eater,” Harry said.

“Really? I do? At least I don’t act like one.” Hermione glared at her friends.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harry asked. His eyes narrowed, but Hermione caught the guilty look that flashed on Ron’s face.

“It was you two, wasn’t it? Hiding under the Invisibility Cloak.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said, although his eyes shifted away from her, a classic Harry-tell that he was lying. “The Cloak has been in my vault at Gringotts.”

“Convenient, since until a few months ago I was barely allowed into Gringotts,” Hermione commented.

“What changed?” Ron asked.

“Tom helped the goblins see the error of their ways. It’s more than either of you have done for me,” Hermione said bitterly.

“Like the goblins would have listened to us!” Ron protested. “We broke into the bank too.”

“And yet, suffered none of the consequences I’ve had to,” Hermione said.

Suddenly, someone in a dark maroon cloak Apparated into the room, right next to the fireplace. Hermione jumped at the loud crack, although neither Harry or Ron looked surprised or even alarmed. The figure didn’t lower their hood and turned their back to Hermione upon spotting her. She didn’t get a good look at them. Couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman.

“The adder has arrived,” the figure whispered. Hermione could just barely make it out. She waved her hand, casting an amplification charm so she could hear the conversation they were clearly trying to keep from her.

“Keep it busy,” Harry hissed. “The viper isn’t in position.”

“The viper—” the figure started, but Ron cut them off.

“Don’t worry about the viper. Just handle the adder.”

Clearly, it was a code, snakes as code-names. Not that original, but who were they talking about? The figure left as quickly as they had arrived.

“What was _that_ about?” Hermione asked sharply.

“None of your business.” Harry glared at her. Hermione knew then. Adder and Viper were code names for her and Tom. If Adder had been seen, that meant they were talking about Tom. She was Viper. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but suddenly, it was deadly serious. This fight between her and Harry and Ron she had thought they could resolve.

“Who did you lend the Invisibility Cloak to?” Hermione asked. “Whoever it was, didn’t do a good enough job, just knocked me out for a moment.”

“Maybe it was a warning,” Ron menaced.

Harry hissed and Hermione smirked. “So it was you. Well, good to know where I stand, I guess.”

“You should stand at _our_ side, Hermione,” Harry said. “It’s not too late, you know. We only want to protect the wizarding world from the second coming of Voldemort. I can’t believe you don’t want that too. He killed my parents.” Harry’s pleas probably would have affected her a few months ago, but not anymore.

“Tom did not kill your parents. That was a different iteration of him. One that is dead and gone and isn’t coming back. I’m sorry you’re too short-sighted to see the difference, Harry.”

And she was sorry, she felt bad for Harry and Ron because they were starting a war they had no hope of winning.

“I hope the next time I see you it isn’t on the other end of my wand,” Hermione said sadly and she turned and left Harry and Ron and Grimmauld Place for what she hoped would be the last time.


	13. Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Many thanks to RachaelLA26 for her beta work! If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr crochetawayhpff or facebook Shan Crochetaway.**

__

* * *

  _February 2003_

_Piccadilly Circus_

_London, England_

* * *

Tom smirked as Hermione practically bounced through the streets. For a reason Tom didn’t quite understand, Hermione loved Piccadilly Circus in all its crowded touristry. He didn’t get the appeal, but Hermione had dragged him out of the flat because it had finally stopped snowing. Apparently, Muggle shopping was better than wizard shopping, at least in Hermione’s eyes. She tended to wear Muggle clothing with just a wizarding robe overtop and Tom did appreciate the view.

Hermione had introduced him to Muggle suits, and Tom found he liked them much better than the wizard variety. They were tailored with precise, sharp lines, which Tom liked. A robe thrown over the top was enough to pass in the Wizengamot. And it made him stand out, which is definitely something he was interested in.

“Through here, Tom, there's a shop we should go in,” Hermione pulled him forward and Tom found her enthusiasm almost infectious. The streets were crowded with Sunday afternoon shoppers and they wove their way through the crowd of Muggles. The shop Hermione had chosen was a high-end suit retailer and Hermione spoke with the salesperson, before shoving Tom onto a pedestal to be measured.

“I haven’t been here in years,” she said. “My father used to get his suits here. You’ll love the fabrics, they are divine.”

“I didn’t realize you were so interested in fashion,” Tom teased. He lifted his arms at the direction of the store assistant.

Hermione snorted. “I’m not, but I have an eye for fine suits.” She winked at him and Tom’s smirk turned into a grin. He loved it when she flirted with him. It contrasted with her usual seriousness, so it was good to see her lighten up a little bit. Although Tom himself was often quite serious, he enjoyed seeing Hermione in a lighter mood. It affected his own mood in ways he wasn’t sure he was ready to identify.

After being measured, Tom and Hermione flipped through some large fabric sample books, picking out fabric for suits, shirts, and ties. Tom watched as Hermione fingered each fabric and wrinkling her nose at the fabrics that were too rough. He was in awe of this side of her. It was fascinating to see her put her time and attention to something as frivolous as fashion. In truth, he’d been happy to get her out of the flat and away from the brooding over her former friends and their activities. She’d come home a week ago talking about a shadow group that Potter and Weasley seemed to be running. Tom assumed they weren’t going to be very effective and wasn’t worried about them.

He placed his order with the sales clerk. The suits wouldn’t be ready for a few weeks, but he didn’t mind. He and Hermione left the store arm in arm. They exited the small side street the store had been located in and onto the main plaza of Piccadilly Circus. The February sun was weakening in the sky and tourists were still filling the plaza almost to capacity. Hermione sighed next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

They were just passing the Shaftesbury Memorial when the first hex came out of the crowd. It hit Tom’s other shoulder and he hissed as the slicing hex broke skin. He whirled around, shoving Hermione behind him and trying to figure out who sent the hex, but he didn’t recognize anyone in the crowd of Muggles.

“Tom? What’s going on?” Hermione asked. Then she gasped. “Tom! You’re bleeding!” He felt her press her fingers and then her wand to the wound, which knitted up. Tom rolled his shoulder as the skin healed itself and surveyed the crowd, but there were so many people, and nobody else seemed to have seen anything. The crowds were milling, the Muggles walking swiftly in the cool weather. Despite the lack of precipitation and the sunshine, it was still February in England, which meant it was quite cold. Half of the Muggles seemed to be in their own worlds, ignoring everything going on around them as they made their way through the crowds. Who the fuck would pick a fight in the middle of a crowd of Muggles? How fucking stupid could they be?

“Tom!” Hermione shouted and Tom turned to see her gripping her shoulder, blood pouring through her fingers.

“Fuck,” Tom murmured as he tapped it with his wand, healing it and continued watching the crowd. It could be anyone. Thoughts of people disguised under Polyjuice of Disillusionment charms flit through his head.

“Someone’s in the crowd attacking us,” Tom whispered urgently to Hermione. “Let’s get back to back and cast a shield. I can’t figure out who it is. Nobody looks familiar.”

Instantly, Hermione moved so her back was to his. “Polyjuice?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Tom tightened his jaw. It was bad enough that Hermione had been attacked in Diagon Alley, but this? Whenever he found the perpetrators, they were going to pay. At least be charged with violating the Statute of Secrecy if nothing else.

He watched a jet of red light come from his left hit the shield charm he had placed in front of him. The shield charm shattered and a bolt of puce came at him. “Duck!” he shouted and he and Hermione both ducked under the bolt of light. It hit a Muggle behind them who screamed as she stumbled down the steps of the fountain. She hit the ground hard and the Muggles near the injured woman began pushing to get away from her. One woman knelt next to the injured one and Tom cast a Confundus at her to get her to move along.

“This isn’t good, Tom,” Hermione hissed. “Muggles are getting hurt.”

“I know,” Tom gritted. “I don’t know what to do without hurting more Muggles though. We need to stay on the defensive to protect the Muggles, but there’s no place we can go for cover.”

Tom cast a Stupefy at the injured Muggle to keep her from screaming. A diagnostic told him a simple slicing hex, so he healed it. He didn’t know what else to do. He could wake her up and she’d panic with the rest, but if he left her there, surely she’d be trampled. She was lying just at the base of the stairs of the fountain. He made a snap decision and levitated her up to under the bowl of the fountain, hoping she’d be protected there.

Suddenly, the air around them lit with screams and streams of light from wands. The magic hissed and crackled through the air. A heavy scent of ozone pervaded the area. The Muggles that had been pushing before were now in a proper panic. They were running in all directions, even as some of their number dropped after being hit with one spell or another.

Two bolts of magic, one bright orange and the other a sickly yellow, hit each other, sending a third mustard-colored bolt straight up to hit the memorial. It hit the delicate ankle of the statue and Tom’s heart dropped as it teetered on the edge for a moment before falling forward. The heavy wings pulling to forward rapidly.

“Run!” he shouted at Hermione, pushing her forward and out of the way of the falling statue. It hit the ground, shattering into pieces.

“ _Protego_!” he and Hermione shouted at the same time. He protected them both, while Hermione tried to shield as many Muggles as she could. The pieces of bronze from the statue flew out like bullets from a gun. The Muggles Hermione couldn’t protect were hit and went down screaming. The panic intensified and Muggles were running in every direction.

Tom knew that something fundamental had changed. The wizarding world was not going to be the same after this.

It didn’t take long for most of the Muggles to clear the plaza, but the Muggle law enforcement still hadn’t arriveds. This was a large coordinated attack. Hermione and Tom got back to back again as a group of at least twenty wizards in dark burgundy robes approached them. Their faces were covered and Hermione stiffened behind him.

“That’s the same robe I saw at Grimmauld,” she said. “This is Harry and Ron.”

“We’ll have to send them a message then. I think it’s time to break out the offensive magic.”

He could feel Hermione’s nod at his back and he reached his left hand back, gripping her hip briefly, before casting at the oncoming group. They had him and Hermione surrounded, and they weren’t evenly matched, but Tom and Hermione had been strengthening their magical reserves for months now. They could withstand a magical onslaught much longer than the average witch or wizard. He drew on that strength now as his wand arm moved fast enough to blur. He lifted his left arm and simultaneously cast from both hands, hoping Hermione had thought to do the same. He blocked what he could, afraid to try and duck and have something hit Hermione.

“Duck!” she screamed suddenly and he dove to the side, devastated to realize that both he and Hermione had jumped to opposite sides. They were separated.

A few of the wizards in dark red were down, but it seemed more were arriving. He twirled his wand in a circle and cast an _Immobulus_ on the group. It took a huge amount of effort and wouldn’t hold for long, but it was enough. He ran to Hermione, picking her up, and found cover around the side of a building. He knelt down, holding Hermione in his arms. She was groggy, not quite awake, and Tom cast an Aguamenti at her face. Suddenly, Tom worried that their preparations hadn’t been enough. He buried the thought as he attempted to revive Hermione.

“Come on,” he muttered, slapping her face lightly. “ _Rennervate_ ,” he muttered when she still wouldn’t rouse. She woke with a gasp and blinked her large brown eyes at Tom.

“What happened?” Hermione asked.

“They’re still out there and about to be free of the mass _Immobulus_ I cast,” Tom told her hurriedly.

“It worked?” Hermione asked with surprise. They had been looking at practicing more powerful spells and Tom’s lips twitched at her inquisitiveness.

“Not the time for science,” he reminded her. He looked up and cursed when he realized he had barricaded them into a dead-end alley. “Can you Apparate?”

“I tried when they appeared,” Hermione said. “They must have cast Anti-Apparition wards on the plaza.”

“We’re out of the plaza, let’s try again.”

Tom stood, pulling Hermione with him and turned to his left, but nothing happened.

“Fuck,” Hermione muttered, she was looking around Tom and he turned to see a group of the burgundy-clad wizards heading their way. The others were working on repairing the plaza and Tom wondered how many of them worked at the Ministry. The coordination of this attack made him feel sick. He hadn’t been prepared for something like this. He’d assumed that nobody would think to move against him, but it seemed that Hermione’s friends were more troublesome than Tom had given them credit for.

“We have to get out of here,” Hermione said. Tom could almost feel her rising panic.

“I know, but we might have to fight our way out. There will be casualties,” he warned.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Hermione whispered. Tom reached down and grasped her hand in his for a moment.

“I love you,” he said as the first of the wizards were on them. Their cloaks reminded him of old, dried blood. He hadn’t planned on saying that, even if he suspected that’s what his feelings were. It had slipped out, and he found that he didn’t regret it. Hermione needed to know. Especially, if the worse were to happen.

“Same,” Hermione grunted, casting her first cast with her wand and he was pleased to see she was casting with her left hand as well. He focused on the wizards in front of them and was concerned to see that they had two people on either side who were solely casting shielding charms.

“Hermione,” Tom whispered. “There’s a wizard on either side, near the back, all they are doing is casting shields. If we can take one or both of them out…” he trailed off as he pulled Hermione down in a tuck and roll, while shielding at the same time. He stood abruptly, taking cover behind a dumpster.

“I see them,” Hermione said, peering around the side of the dumpster.

“Let’s aim for the one on the right,” Tom instructed. “Shield with your left.”

They both cast shielding charms and began aiming at the small wizard— _probably a witch_ —his brain supplied on the right side of the group.

She screamed when one of their hexes hit home.

“Left!” Hermione screamed, and they began casting furiously at the wizard holding up his part of the shield charm on the left. When he too went down, Tom and Hermione dropped their shields entirely and began attacking the group as a whole. Finally, the group seemed to shuffle backward. He and Hermione walked forwards, shoving the dumpster along in front of them as they went to keep their cover.

“Retreat!” a voice shouted above the fray, one that sounded suspiciously like Potter.

“Harry!” a witch screamed when a man went down and his hood fell back. He pulled something out of his pocket and was gone in a flash.

“ _Sectumsempra_!” a voice screamed from the sea of red, and the spell hit Tom squarely in the chest.

“No!” Hermione screamed. “ _Sectumsempra_!” she shouted back and he could dimly see someone from the other side fall. Suddenly the alleyway was clear. It was just Hermione, Tom, and the other wizard. Tom was bleeding out heavily and he collapsed to the ground, lying on his side.

“Tom!” Hermione screamed at him as she tried to heal him, but the wound was cursed and she couldn’t stem the flow.

“I can’t breathe…” Tom gasped. He was getting colder, and when he patted his chest, his hands came away sticky. He’d never heard of the curse that had been used against him, but nothing Hermione did seem to help. It felt as though his chest was on fire.

“H’mione,” Tom struggled to stay conscious as blackness started to crowd the edge of his vision. He could fix this. But he needed her permission. He needed her to release him. “Gonna… die…” he choked, coughing as blood spilled out of his mouth and down his chin.

“No you’re not,” Hermione said fiercely. “You can’t! I won’t let you.” She cast another round of healing charms, but Tom could tell they weren’t doing anything. The ground was pooling with his blood and Tom knew that he had only moments before he lost consciousness. He needed her to understand.

“Hor…crux,” Tom hissed in a bid to get her to see what needed to happen.

“Fuck!” she shouted and tapped her wand to his chest in another attempt to stem the blood flow. Tom shook his head, trying to grasp her hand, but his coordination was off and his hand flailed against her wrist, leaving her hand and wand bloody.

“Fuck!” she screamed again pressing her palms into her face, and Tom wished more than anything that he could hold her. She took a deep breath, Tom could see her resolve hardening as her spine straightened and she removed her hands. There were still tears in her eyes as she pointed her wand at him. The blood from her hands on her face made her look vicious. Tom thought she looked like a warrior queen.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, I release you from your binding wizard’s vow. You may kill. You may make a Horcrux. Whatever you bloody do, you’ll live!”

Tom took as deep a breath as his lungs would allow as the Unbreakable Vow left him. He felt Hermione drop something into his hand and he curled his fingers around it. It felt like the necklace she had taken to wearing since he’d given it to her at Christmas. It was malachite on a thin gold chain and would be perfect for his purposes.

Hermione held his wand hand up, pointing it at the only other person in the alley. The deep color of the tall wizard’s robe almost blended in with the blood that pooled around him, just as it was pooling around Tom. Tom’s chest moved shallowly as the other wizard gasped. The robe covered his face and Tom wished he could see who he was about to murder. Mere curiosity. It didn’t really matter to him at all. He gathered all of his strength and hate, steadying his hand in Hermione’s as much as he could.

“Avada Kedavra,” he whispered, and the flash of green light struck the wizard, who breathed his last and began to turn blurry. Tom’s vision was dimming and he focused on creating the Horcrux.

Tom drew as much air as he could and began the laborious process of splitting his soul. It was harder than the last time he’d done it and he wondered vaguely what that meant. Still, he was able to stabilize and focus, keeping himself from feeling the cold that was creeping toward the center of his body.

He closed his eyes, finding his soul, buried deep inside him. The recent murder had left a jagged line in his soul and he could see two spots where he’d made the Horcruxes. It like a past life, barely real. He began dividing his soul, taking the smallest bit of it he could, the bit with the two other soul scars. It felt like ages, but must have been only minutes. Hermione was still crying next to him, he could feel her tears as they dropped on his face, although he kept his eyes closed to hold onto his concentration.

Then he took the larger piece of his soul and with every bit of magic he possessed, he shoved it into the waiting Horcrux that was still clutched in his fingers.

He knew that he wasn’t going to live, but if he put the bigger piece in the Horcrux, then perhaps he’d come back still loving Hermione. It was his dearest wish as he coughed and his lungs refused to breathe another breath. The pain as most of his soul left him made him scream out wordlessly, startling Hermione.

“Tom?” she shouted. Her voice sounded scared and Tom wished he could hold her and tell her it was going to be alright. He hoped she knew where to go. Theo and Draco knew what to do. He hadn’t been as prepared for an attack as he had wished, but he had been prepared for this. To come back, to rise again.

“Tom!” she repeated and Tom barely managed to open his eyes.

“Love…” he trailed off.

“Tom!” Hermione cried. She laid her head on his chest and held him as his eyes blinked one last time before everything went dark.


	14. Opening Shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Many thanks to RachaelLA26 for her beta work! And we're officially caught up across all platforms! Starting next week, it'll be entirely new content on FFN, AO3, and Wattpad!**
> 
>  
> 
> **If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff or facebook at Shan Crochetaway**

* * *

  _February 2003_

_Piccadilly Circus_

_London, England_

* * *

“Love…” Tom trailed off.

“Tom!” Hermione screamed. She threw herself on top of him as the last breath left his body. “No! Tom!” She shook him, trying to wake him. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be!

She could barely see for the tears that were pouring out of her eyes as she screamed and cried. A moment later, it felt as though a calm had overcome her. Tom wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want her to be weeping over his body. She glanced down and saw the necklace in his hand. The precious malachite necklace that she had almost refused when he’d given it to her. But she hadn’t and instead, she’d worn it almost every day. Thank Merlin she had. Thank Salazar, Godric, and anyone else who was listening. She pulled the necklace from his limp fingers. More tears coursed down her cheeks at the feel of those limp and rapidly cooling digits in her own. Then she slipped the necklace over her head, nestling the stone between her breasts once more.

“Tom, I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it. I promise,” she whispered. Then digging out her wand, she took a deep breath and pictured the gates that led up to Nott Park.

A sickening feeling like being sucked through a straw later and she and Tom landed before the gates. She wouldn’t be able to get a Patronus out, not in her state. But she could begin dismantling the Nott wards. That would send a message. She knelt near the gates, a hand on Tom’s chest and the other on the gates as she began plucking apart the ancient Nott wards, one by one.

“Woah! Granger! What the fuck are you doing?” Nott suddenly appeared on the other side of the gates. His face drained of color when he saw Tom.

“You have to help me,” Hermione said. “You have to help me bring him back.”

“Holy…”

“NOTT!” she screamed getting his attention. “HELP ME!”

“Right, come in,” he waved his hands and the gate opened. Hermione stood on wobbly legs and Nott levitated Tom before him. “Lippy!”

A house elf appeared at Nott’s elbow. “Fetch Draco, Pansy, and Millie. Immediately. Don’t take no for an answer. We’ll be in the study.”

Hermione followed after Nott, unable to tear her eyes from Tom’s limp body.

“Nobody can know,” Hermione whispered when Nott had settled Tom onto the wide couch in the study. “Nobody can know and if you and the rest of your cronies can’t keep your mouths shut, I’ll Obliviate you,” Hermione said fiercely. She knelt next to Tom’s body, holding tightly to his cold hand.

“No need for Obliviations, Hermione,” Pansy said from behind her. She whirled around and stumbled to her feet to greet Pansy. She almost fell when Pansy wrapped her arms around her. Hermione allowed herself to cry into Pansy’s shoulder some and soon another pair of arms was around her and Millie was there, smoothing the hair from Hermione's forehead as she cried.

“We’re here for you and Tom, Hermione,” Millie said.

“You said to help you,” Nott interrupted. “What exactly does that entail?”

“There’s a potion. It’s going to take three days to make it and we can’t fuck it up. We have one shot to get it right.”

“I know it,” Malfoy said from the doorway. “Tom discussed it with us.”

“Good. We need to get started on it immediately,” Hermione said. “Nobody can know. They can’t know this happened. They can’t know he died or that we brought him back. Whatever the… after effects of the potion are, I’ll figure out a way to downplay them.

“What after effects?” Nott asked.

“This potion isn’t all that different than the one that brought him back in fourth year,” Hermione whispered. “But I _won’t_ let him become like that.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t either,” Malfoy assured her.

The next day was a work day, so Hermione owled in for both her and Tom—claiming a terrible Muggle flu and that they’d likely be out for the week. Then she and Malfoy set to work on the potion while Pansy, Millie, and Nott helped where they could. Malfoy and she were by far the most competent with potions.

Pansy and Millie shoved cups of tea into Hermione’s hands whenever she wasn’t preparing potions ingredients and begged her to eat more than a few nibbles of toast, but Hermione couldn’t. The thought of eating, while Tom laid dead and cold under a Stasis charm in Nott’s study made her vomit up her tea on more than one occasion.

On the second day, Malfoy shoved a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ under her nose. Hermione tried to push it away, she didn’t care about the wider wizarding world at that moment. Her sole focus was Tom and the potion.

“Granger, you need to read this,” Malfoy insisted. Suddenly, Pansy and Millie were on either side of her and Hermione somehow knew that this was going to be bad news.

‘ _AUROR DEAD IN PICCADILLY CIRCUS BRAWL’_ was splashed across the headline. Beneath was a smiling photo of Ron Weasley.

“No,” Hermione whispered as she ran a finger down Ron’s newsprint face. “He was the only casualty?” She couldn’t bring herself to read the rest of the article.

“Yes,” Pansy said quietly. “Several injuries were reported, Potter among them. But Weasley was the only casualty.”

“Tom will live because he died,” Hermione said. She tried to harden her heart, but she knew this was another thing that would make her cry for years to come. “I tried to warn him and Harry both off this path, and they wouldn’t listen.”

“We know,” Millie assured her. “We’re here for you, Hermione. _Whatever_ you need.”

Hermione nodded then shoved the _Prophet_ away. “Let’s get back to work.”

She was particularly wane by the time the potion was finished three days later. “Let’s go,” she said to Malfoy the moment it was bottled.

“Woah, Granger, slow down. You need to rest and eat before we bring him back. He’s going to be pissed if he wakes up and sees you looking like this.”

“I don’t fucking care what he sees when he wakes up, Malfoy,” Hermione hissed. “I care that he wakes up at all. I’m not going to be able to eat or sleep until this is done. You promised to help me.”

“I did, of course. Let’s go, Granger,” Malfoy held her arm and escorted her from the potions lab in the cellar. Hermione was weak enough to actually need his help as they ascended the many stairs up to the ground floor and Nott’s study. She kept her back as ramrod straight as she could and ignored the looks Nott, Pansy, and Millie shot to Malfoy as they entered the study. Hermione had insisted that Tom not be left alone for even a moment.

She knelt on the plush carpet before Tom and brushed his hair back from his forehead for perhaps the hundredth time in the last few days.

“We’re ready, love,” Hermione said. “It’s time to wake up now.”

She pulled the Horcrux off and felt a keen sense of loss. Five years ago, proximity to one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes had been enough to make her want to tear her hair out. How different this one felt in her hands.

Reaching a hand back, Malfoy handed her the potion vial and Hermione, with Nott’s help, tipped Tom’s head back and opened his mouth. Due to the Stasis charm, Tom’s body was still pliant enough that she could open his mouth. She poured the potion inside, massaging his throat to get him to ingest it. Then she placed the malachite necklace holding a portion of his soul over his closed lips, the chain coiled around the rock.

At first, nothing happened. Hermione held her breath and screamed inside her head to every deity she could think of to make him wake up. Pansy’s hand was clenched into her shoulder in a claw and Hermione focused on the pain there in order to not let the screams escape her mouth.

After what felt like an eternity, but was perhaps only fifteen minutes or so, Tom gasped and opened his eyes. Hermione watched in horrified fascination as a small silver light left the Horcrux balanced on Tom’s lips and entered his mouth. His soul. He had his soul back.

“Hermione?” Tom murmured, his voice hoarse and Hermione removed the necklace from his lips, slipping the chain around her head once more.

“Hey, love,” Hermione said, cupping his face in her hand. “What do you remember?”

“Everything,” Tom replied. His voice sounding stronger. “Although I suspect some time has passed.”

“Only three days,” Hermione replied. “Oh, Merlin, Tom!” She dropped her forehead to his shoulder and couldn’t stop the gut-wrenching sobs from pouring forth. After that first day, she had pulled herself together and hadn’t shed a tear. She also hadn’t eaten or slept. She was overcome with exhaustion.

“Oh, Hermione,” Tom slipped an arm around her shoulders and Hermione heard the door close behind her. She assumed that meant Tom had shooed everyone else out. Something she was thankful for. It had been hard enough to show her grief to them earlier. The last thing she wanted was them to see it now.

“Hermione, love,” Tom said, tilting her head up to face him. She was sure she looked a mess, tears and snot streaked along her face.

“Do you still love me, Tom? Is your soul whole enough for it?” Hermione whispered. It had been her biggest fear for the last few days. Would Tom still love her? And even if he did, was his soul capable of it?

“I put the largest part of my soul into the Horcrux,” Tom admitted. “I needed to come back as close to the man as I was when I left. I’ve learned from the past. I won’t become _him_.”

That brought a fresh round of tears from Hermione and at Tom’s urging, she clambered onto the couch, snuggling into his arms as he held her. He let her cry and didn’t attempt to get her to stop. He seemed to know instinctively that she needed this. That she needed the cathartic release that this was bringing.

“You can’t leave me again,” Hermione whispered. “I don’t care what we have to do, but I _can’t_ do this again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tom said fiercely, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“You can’t do another Horcrux though,” Hermione insisted. “I’m already terrified that this one has made you less humane,” she whispered.

“Then we’ll figure something else out,” Tom replied. “I… who was it that I killed?”

Hermione kept the sobs from escaping as she whispered, “Ron. Ron Weasley.”

“Oh, love,” Tom tightened his arms around her and Hermione buried her face into his chest once more. He still smelled like Tom, his heartbeat was the same, familiar rhythm and Hermione knew what they had done was unnatural, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad about it. She had Tom back, and, at the moment, that was all she needed. “This is going to add complications.”

“I know,” Hermione whispered. “I… I’ve been holding out hope that I could talk Harry and… and Ron around, but now? I don’t think that will be happening.”

“Opening shots of war,” Tom mused.

* * *

_February 2003_

_Hermione’s Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

“This one,” Hermione pointed to the spell she’d been researching any time she hadn’t been working on the potion for Tom.

“That will bind us together for life,” Tom said. “It’ll mean that we share one soul. Are you sure—”

“I’m not going through that again,” Hermione said firmly. She met Tom’s gaze. “I understand if you aren’t willing, but this is the one _I_ want to do.”

Tom’s look softened. “It’s not that I don’t want to do this one, Hermione. You misunderstand, I’m… I’m completely willing. I want to make sure that _you_ are sure you are alright with our souls binding completely.”

“Of course, I am,” Hermione said. “I would rather die than watch you die again. This will ensure that if you die, I die. The unfortunate side effect is that if I die, you die. So I understand if that’s not something you are willing to risk.”

“You idiot witch,” Tom murmured as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her fiercely. “I would follow you to the sun and back, don’t you know that?”

Hermione released a breath that she hadn’t known she’d been holding. A weight seemed to have lifted from her. “Thank Merlin,” she breathed as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“Same,” Tom murmured against her mouth. “What do we need for the ritual?”

“This one is slightly involved,” Hermione said. “A blood sacrifice from each of us, a very simple potion that we both consume, and a second potion that is rubbed into the skin over our hearts,; then sealing the whole thing with sexual congress.”

“Seems simple enough, let’s get started on the potions,” Tom said. Hermione smiled at him. It was good to have him back, she almost couldn’t believe she’d almost lost him.

The potions were easily made, especially with both of them working on them. Tom left to prepare the bedroom as Hermione cleaned up in the kitchen, bottling the completed potions and cleaning and packing away the potions gear.

“Ready,” Tom said from the doorway of the kitchen. He was already down to his boxer briefs and Hermione felt her pulse quicken at the sight of him. He’d only been back a couple of days and they hadn’t had time to make love in those few days. Hermione had slept through most of them. It was Saturday and they’d both be returning to the Ministry in two days time. It was slightly terrifying, although they decided that they both would be taking security along with them. Why Tom thought Pansy and Millie were ‘security’ Hermione had no idea. But he did, and she’d accepted the fact that Pansy and Millie were now to be her constant companions. In truth, the idea didn’t bother Hermione as much as she let on. She _was_ spooked. Both by her own attack in Diagon Alley and more so by the open warfare that had taken place in Piccadilly Circus.

“Are you sure you’re ready for sex again?” Hermione asked picking up the potion bottles and following him back to the bedroom.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Tom said with a finality that Hermione knew she wouldn’t be testing. At least not at this moment. She was too thankful to have him back to want to argue with him. If he said he was ready, she accepted that.

The ritual circle was set up in the bedroom with the sacrifice bowl placed on the nearest bedside table. Hermione set the potions next to the sacrifice bowl and was surprised to see silk cords attached to the headboard of the bed.

“What are these for?” she asked Tom over her shoulder as she fingered the brilliant green silk.

“What do you think?” Tom asked huskily. He was standing right behind her and ghosted his hands along her waist.

“Me?” Hermione asked, confirming her hunch.

Tom’s chuckle was low, from his chest and Hermione’s breath sped up at the sound of it. “Well, I guess they could be for me, but I think we’d both prefer if they were wrapped around your pretty wrists.” Tom picked up one of her hands and kissed just wear the cord would likely dig into the flesh, causing Hermione to shiver.

“Alright,” she agreed with a nod.

“Good,” Tom said, then spun her in his arms and began undressing her. Soon they were both naked and Tom closed the circle of salt. Hermione cut her left palm, then held the knife up for Tom to do the same. They held their fisted palms over the sacrifice bowl.

“To Freya, goddess of love and sexuality, I offer you my life-blood. Please help us bind our souls as one. To live forever more with one soul between the two of us,” Hermione said, keeping her eyes locked on Tom’s.

“To Freyr, god of phallic sexuality, I offer you my life-blood. Please help us bind our souls as one. To live forever more with one soul between the two of us,” Tom repeated, his gaze boring into Hermione’s.

Their blood mingled into the bowl and when Tom had deemed enough had fallen, he unfisted Hermione’s hand and kissed the palm, healing the cut there without even a whisper of a spell crossing his lips. Hermione hadn’t even thought about all the work they had put into the various sex magic rituals and how they would affect Tom’s magical core, but he seemed as powerful as before he died. Hermione wondered if that meant the magical core was part of the body or the soul. It was hard to know.

“Come back to me,” Tom said lowly.

Hermione blushed and stepped around the end table so she could kiss him. She stood on her tiptoes to do so and Tom wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him.

“Wait,” Hermione said, just as Tom pushed her onto the bed. “The potions.”

Tom grabbed both vials, and swigged from the first, before offering it to Hermione. She drank the rest, then Tom opened the second vial. He scooped a large dollop of cream onto his fingers and handed it to Hermione. She did the same. Then at the same moment, they rubbed the potion into the skin over the other’s heart.

“My heart, your heart,” Tom said. Hermione repeated after him. “My soul, your soul,” Hermione repeated his words again. A brilliant blue light flashed around the room, emanating from where the potion sat on their chests and the magic sank into their skin. Suddenly, Hermione felt inflamed with desire for Tom.

“Tom, I need you,” Hermione said, pulling him on top of her. Tom allowed a brief, but intense kiss, then pulled back and grasped both of Hermione’s hands. A moment later, they were tied to the headboard with the pretty green silk cords. Hermione tested their strength and grinned when there wasn’t much give there.

“Alright?” Tom asked. Hermione nodded. “Good.” Tom flashed a heart-stopping grin at her and then climbed onto the bed at her feet.

“Tom,” Hermione whined as he picked up on foot and kissed each toe on it. “I can’t wait, please, Tom!”

“I have yet to properly thank you, love,” Tom said. “I’m going to do that now. You should lay back and enjoy it.”

Hermione whined in the back of her throat as Tom kissed along the instep of her left foot, then on either side of her ankle, sliding his hands sinfully slowly up her calf and bending her knee. He placed that foot on his shoulder, then picked up the other, giving it the same treatment, before placing it on his shoulder as well. He kissed the back of both of her knees, and Hermione’s legs were trembling. Her center ached to be touched, to be filled and Hermione strained her body, arching her back, trying to get Tom to speed up his actions.

Now she knew why he wanted to tie her up, she would certainly hurry this process along if she wasn’t tied to the bed. Tom kissed his way up each thigh, slowly laying himself down between her legs. Finally, his head was right where she wanted him and Hermione practically sobbed. He hadn’t even touched her core yet, but just feeling his hot breath there was enough for Hermione to feel the hot liquid of her essence begin to seep out of her.

“Ready, love?” Tom asked.

“Yes!” Hermione shouted and Tom licked her with the flat of his tongue. She keened her response, hooking her legs around his shoulders and trying to pull him closer. Tom placed a hand firmly on her hips—to keep them on the bed. Then with the other, he parted her lips, tonguing first her entrance, then circling her clit. “Tom!” Hermione gasped. She was suddenly right there on the edge of her orgasm and wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold it back. Heat pooled heavily in her belly as the tension wound tighter in her core.

“That’s it, come for me,” Tom murmured into her core. “I want to hear my name on your lips as you fall apart.” He wrapped an arm around each of her thighs and buried his face into her cunt. He licked and sucked and fucked her through her orgasm as Hermione thrashed on the bed. She screamed his name and gripped the cords that held her hands so tightly she was sure she’d torn the skin on her wrists open. As her climax ebbed, Tom continued his ministrations, softly licking her cunt, occasionally tapping her clit with his nose or his tongue.

“Tom,” she pleaded. She was sensitive, too sensitive, but Tom didn’t stop.

“You’re coming at least twice more before I fuck you,” Tom informed her as he moved one hand and slid a finger inside her tight sheath.

“I can’t, please Tom, don’t make me,” Hermione begged. “Just take me. I want to feel you inside me. Filling me up, please.”

Tom sighed and Hermione thought he might relent. Instead, he pushed two fingers inside her firmly, rubbing at the spongy patch at the front of her canal and began sucking on her clit. Hermione’s orgasm hit her like a wrecking ball, tearing her apart from the inside out as she shrieked Tom’s name.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Tom asked conversationally as Hermione slowly came down from her high. “Just once more, and I’ll be fucking you.” Tom sounded almost blasé about the whole thing, but Hermione could see his hips undulating into the bed beneath him.

“Tom,” Hermione sighed as she realized he was working four fingers inside her and thumbing her clit at the same time. It felt amazing to be stretched so and her entire body felt relaxed and languid.

“Hermione,” Tom breathed, tapping his tongue to her clit. He began making letters over and over again and Hermione was trying to figure out what he was tonguing, but she was soon mindlessly overcome with an orgasm. She thought perhaps he was just tracing ‘Tom’s’ over and over again. But she wasn’t sure.

“That’s three, Tom,” Hermione rasped. “Please, please fuck me. I want to feel your cock, please.” She didn’t even care that she was begging. The wizard had just brought her to orgasm three times in record time and she just wanted to feel him invading her entirely. She wanted to feel him inside her as she wrapped her legs around him and held on while he fucked her into the mattress below.

“Hmm, right you are,” Tom murmured. He stretched his body over hers and Hermione shivered in anticipation. She widened her legs, bending her knees, allowing them to fall to either side as Tom settled between them. His cock was heavy and long at her center. She bucked her hips, trying to get him to fill her. “Mmm, patience, love.”

“Tom, please,” Hermione begged. She wished she could touch him. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and hold him close as he took her. Tom braced his forearms on either side of her, his hands slid under her shoulders, cupping her there as he _finally_ slid his length home inside her. She arched her back, wrapping her legs around his waist, and pulling him into her as tightly as she could.

“Fuck,” Tom muttered, dropping his head to her shoulder. He dropped it a few more inches and kissed along her breast, finding a nipple and sucking it into his mouth as he slowly pulled out and pushed back in.

The tension between her nipple and clit felt amazing. A line of pleasure ran between the two and soon Hermione was panting as another orgasm began building inside her. She undulated her body in time with Tom’s thrusts. She wanted more. She _needed_ more. She wished Tom could crawl inside her skin and stay there.

Tom moved his attention to her other breast as he continued pounding inside her, a relentless rhythm that was going to force her to her completion sooner rather than later.

“Tom,” she gasped just as her fourth orgasm began. Four was an insane number for orgasms and Hermione felt her entire body clench, holding Tom’s cock inside her as wave after wave of pleasure exploded in her.

“Salazar, witch,” Tom grunted when she’d finally relaxed enough to release her hold on him. “Hold on,” he muttered and soon his pounding gave way to hammering, hard and fast. Hermione’s felt another small ripple of an orgasm that seemed to drag itself on and on and on as Tom thrust away. The room flashed a brilliant blue once more and Hermione felt a warm, almost too hot sensation deep in her magical core.

“Hermione!” Tom shouted as he came inside her. Hermione smiled at the sound of her name on his lips and promptly slipped into a semi-conscious sleep.

Dimly, she was aware of Tom untying her hands and caring for the wounds he found on her wrists. The candles all went out at some point as well, and soon Tom was cuddled behind her, pulling her close, making her feel safe and warm as she slept.

* * *

_March 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

Tom didn’t particularly relish having bodyguards surrounding him at all times, but he felt it better to be safe than sorry. It was clear that the red-cloaks—as he’d come to call them—were willing to be ruthless. Tom could be just as ruthless, although he has purposely not recruited followers in the same way he’d done fifty years ago. Hermione had a distaste for it, and now that they were bound together for an eternity, he found himself unwilling to do things to upset her purposely. And he’d foisted Pansy and Millie on her, the least he could do was to allow Theo and Draco to escort him. It was even easy, really, to pass it off as friends and colleagues spending time together.

Even more than the bodyguards though, was the amount of self-defense training he was insisting on anyone in his circle to be trained with. He was not about to be caught out by the red-cloaks again in such an egregious manner. Tom was actually embarrassed that they had been caught out so badly, and he vowed it wouldn’t happen again. In fact, he had plans that afternoon to submit into evidence at the Wizengamot that Potter was behind the attacks. He ate the sandwich Theo had brought him as he went through his files one last time.

This was unorthodox, generally, the DMLE brought cases to the Wizengamot, and the Wizengamot ruled on them. Members of the Wizengamot might introduce legislation, but hardly ever criminal cases. It was complicated, but Tom knew that the DMLE was never going to bring a case against Potter. He didn’t know for sure, but he suspected that there had been several Aurors present during the attack. More than just Potter and Weasley.

Tom sighed as thoughts of Weasley crowded his mind. He didn’t care that he had killed the other man, but he did care that Hermione was mourning his loss. Even if she tried to pretend she wasn’t, Tom could see how hard his death had hit her. Tom would need to end this conflict without anyone else dying. A bloodless coup had always been his ambition, and now that blood had been spilled he needed to mitigate the next actions to avoid spilling more blood.

“Ready?” Draco asked from the doorway, adjusting his robes slightly. Tom finished his tea and nodded. He donned his own plum-colored Wizengamot robes and gathered up his files. Theo and Draco escorted him through the hallways and to the Wizengamot chamber. Tom had bribed the clerk to put his name on the docket but to not put a subject matter.

Tom breathed deeply, relishing the feeling of air in his lungs, as he entered the hallowed chamber. Other members of the Wizengamot were filtering in post lunch, and Tom took his seat, as Theo and Draco sat next to him. It was slightly unorthodox, but Tom didn’t care about orthodoxy, he cared about safety.

Finally, the clerk called the session to order. Tom was pleased to see that the Minister of Magic had foregone attending today’s afternoon session. It meant that Shacklebolt would be unable to block him.

“Tom Riddle, you are on the docket for this afternoon,” the Chief Warlock, Tiberius Ogden stated. “Strange, there’s no subject matter?”

“Thank you, Chief Warlock,” Tom said smoothly as he stood. Theo and Draco remained sitting as did every other member of the Wizengamot. “I am saddened to say I bring forward a criminal case. One that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have refused to acknowledge, despite the fact that there was extensive damage to a Muggle shopping district.”

Murmurs arose at this introduction.

“My esteemed colleagues, as you’ll no doubt recall from reports in the _Daily Prophet_ several weeks ago, there was a severe disturbance in Piccadilly Circus—a busy Muggle shopping and tourist center—I am here to tell you the story behind that disturbance. It left one of our own Aurors dead, a man who had fought valiantly in the war against the Dark Lord, Voldemort just a few short years ago.”

Tom took a dramatic pause, dropping his head slightly as if he too were remembering the brave sacrifices of Ronald Weasley.

“That attack, for it was an attack, was perpetrated by none other than wizarding world savior, Harry James Potter. He along with several of his associates attacked me and his once dear friend, Hermione Granger. I am here to bring evidence forward of that attack, including Pensieve memories in hopes that my revered colleagues will see fit to bring Mr Potter forward for justice.”

Gasps and exclamations were heard across the chamber. Tom stood solemnly as he waited for the Chief Warlock to bring everyone back to order. He knew how volatile this subject was and had fully expected such a reaction.

“How do we know you aren’t lying?” One elderly witch asked the venom in her voice was clear.

“Madame, Pensieve memories do not lie. I have my own to show you, but also Miss Granger’s. A venerated war hero in her own right,” Tom explained. He was careful to modulate his voice. He had to approach this delicately and with great reverence for the players involved.

“Bah! Harry Potter wouldn’t attack his own friends!” a wizened old wizard shouted.

“I am afraid that he has,” Tom said sadly. “He seems to have become deranged these past few months.”

There was more shouting and arguing and inside Tom was smirking at the chaos around him. His disruption of the wizarding world had truly begun. He couldn’t wait until it was finally his time to shine and bring the right sort of order to it all. 

* * *

_March 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

Tom was riding on his high from yesterday. The Wizengamot had decided they would table the discussion for a day as they reviewed the evidence Tom had brought forward. That morning had been spent going through Pensieve’s and he was in a delightful mood. It was lunchtime and he needed to see Hermione. He had doffed his plum robes and strode through the Ministry in one of his Muggle-style suits. Several witches threw him admiring looks, as did a few wizards and Tom found himself winking at them all. Nothing could get his mood down today. Harry Potter and his feeble resistance were going to be crushed under the boot of Tom’s power.

He conjured a gorgeous bouquet of roses and waltzed into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He spotted Hermione immediately, her head bowed over her work at her desk outside her bosses office. Even the sight of her doing menial work couldn’t dampen his mood today.

“Hello, love,” Tom murmured, startling Hermione.

“Tom! What are you doing here?” she looked up at him, ink from her quill blotting her parchment. Tom snapped his fingers, sopping up the spilled ink, and she smiled her thanks to him.

“I thought perhaps we could have lunch,” Tom placed the flowers on her desk, and brought up his other hand, showing a bag to one of the fanciest take-out places in Diagon Alley.

“Oh! Well, I think the conference room is empty…” she trailed off as she glanced around her department.

Tom knew what she was looking at, everyone had their eyes on him. Thus far, their relationship had been kept separate from work. He was sure Hermione did not want to draw attention to herself by talking about her personal relationships at work.

“To the conference room then,” Tom said. He held out a hand, helping Hermione to stand, before tucking her hand into his arm. She guided him to the small room near the doors of the department and the moment they were inside, Tom sent a locking spell at the door and a silencing spell around the room as a whole. The windows were already obscured with opaque glass, but Tom sent a complicated illusion charm at them to make it look as if two people were sitting and eating. He had no plans to eat during his lunch break today.

Hermione was digging through the bag when Tom stepped up behind her. He pressed his already hardening cock against her backside and heard her hiss.

“Hello, love,” Tom said again as he nuzzled her neck. He moved her hair to the other side of her shoulder and began planting kisses on the soft skin below her ear.

“Tom,” Hermione whined. “We shouldn’t,” she said even as she pushed her bum back against his cock.

“Oh, but we should, my dear,” Tom said. He slipped his hands from her shoulders, down her front, cupping her breasts through her robes. “We’ll make it quick, so you still have time to eat.”

“Oh, what a recommendation,” Hermione snarked at him.

Tom chuckled. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it. I’ll have you screaming my name by the time we’re through.”

“Tom,” Hermione pleaded as he plucked her nipples. Tom grinned, knowing she had conceded. He pushed her back so her front was pressed to the table before them, shoving the bag of food out of the way. Lifting her robes and skirt, his fingers quickly found her core. He draped her robes over her back, sliding her knickers to the side. She was soaked.

“Apparently, the lady doth protest too much,” Tom grinned, placing a kiss just under her ear. He stood and dragged both of her hands above her head, bidding her to grip the other side of the table. Then he used both hands to caress down her sides before kneeling behind her. He pushed either leg open farther and nuzzled his face against her sex. She smelled fucking divine.

He licked her closed pussy lips, before separating them and delving his tongue as far inside her as he could reach.

“Tom!” Hermione sobbed above him and Tom reached his index finger forward and began circling her clit. He wanted her absolutely shaken with the force of the orgasms he gave her. It was his favorite look on her. He applied himself with vigor and was pleased when he felt the first telltale flutterings of her cunt around his fingers. He rubbed the front wall of her sex while tapping her clit and she screamed as she gushed over his hand.

He stood then, unbuckling his belt and freeing his iron-hard cock. He pumped himself lazily, giving Hermione a small break to catch her breath. Soon enough, he placed himself at her entrance and she bucked her hips when she felt the head of his cock beginning to split her.

“Please, Tom! I need you,” Hermione groaned.

Tom sighed and sank into her tight heat. “Fuck,” he muttered as she fluttered around him. He loved this feeling best in the world. The way she tightened so beautifully around him. It felt like coming home. He never wanted to leave it. He skimmed a hand along her arse, concentrating as the magic gathered in his fingertips and sparked between his hand and her skin. Her back arched then and Tom reached his other hand forward, fisting his hand in her hair, pulling her taut.

He slipped a hand around her hip and began thumbing her clit, pushing pulses of magic into the sensitive skin there. Hermione shuddered around him, coming so hard he couldn’t move his cock. He bottomed out inside her and stilled while she wailed through her orgasm. Finally, when her body went limp, Tom let go of his hold on her hair and gripped both hips. He pounded furiously taking his own pleasure as she mewled beneath him. Impossibly, she came again as he did, both of them shouting through their climaxes.

“Good thing for silencing charms,” Hermione muttered.

Tom laughed and helped her to stand, sending a gentle Scourgify her way.

“What did I do to deserve that?” Hermione asked as they settled down to eat their lunch. Tom had cast a stasis charm over the bag, so the steaming food was still delicious.

“Nothing.” Tom winked at her. “I’m just in a good mood, thought I’d share the cheer.”

Hermione laughed and they both dug into their meal.

* * *

That afternoon, Tom was ready and waiting for the Wizengamot to decide whether charges against Harry Potter and his cohorts should be brought forth. He felt assured that the Wizengamot had been appalled enough at the Pensieve memories.

Even when Shacklebolt entered the chambers with a scowl, Tom was assured in his victory.

With a bang of his gavel, Ogden brought the session to order. “Minister Shacklebolt has asked to address my revered colleagues. Minister?”

Tom’s smugness dropped momentarily as Shacklebolt made eye contact with him.

“My esteemed colleagues,” Shacklebolt began, “I am afraid that the case you have been contemplating these last two days will have to be put on hold. For we cannot charge a hallowed war hero with such grievous offenses without definitive proof.”

“There’s Pensieve evidence, Shacklebolt!” A nasty old witch shouted, one Tom was surprised to see had aligned with him so quickly.

“And Pensieve evidence is not enough. Testimonies must also be mad—”

“I’m sure Tom Evans and Hermione Granger would be happy to testify,” someone else insisted. Tom could hardly believe this was happening. He had thought he was headed for an afternoon of argument; and yet, as he glanced around the chamber, there were angry mutterings. Had Shacklebolt not interfered, things would have gone Tom’s way. Now, it seemed that unless he did something, they would not.

“Indeed, I would,” Tom said, standing. “I would be happy to testify before my colleagues, as would Miss Granger. We feel a dangerous wizard must be stopped before he causes more harm to our world or the Muggle world.”

“Be that as it may,” Shacklebolt shouted, “as Minister, I cannot allow the charges to move forward. That is my final word.” Shacklebolt stormed from the chamber then, leaving the Wizengamot to mutter angrily behind him.

Tom was angry at Shacklebolt’s interference. Potter would have been gone. But Tom knew that the war wasn’t over. Half the Wizengamot was on his side. He just needed Potter to do something stupid so that Tom could convince the other half. Perhaps a call to the _Daily Prophet_ might be in order.


	15. Deliberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Many thanks to RachaelLA26 for her beta work!**
> 
> **Eeeee! I was so excited to post this chapter because it's a new chapter across all platforms! After this one, we only have 3 more left! Hope you are enjoying!**
> 
> **If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff or facebook at Shan Crochetaway.**

__

* * *

 

_March 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Miss Granger," Gawain Robards said, indicating that Hermione should sit.

"Of course, Mr Robards," Hermione wanted to question why Head of the DMLE was meeting with her, but she kept her mouth closed.  _Let him run the meeting_ , she thought to herself.

"Tea?" Robards offered. Hermione shook her head. She was nervous enough, she didn't want a teacup and saucer clattering in her hands.

"Well, I've called you up here to offer you a job. Frankly, you are wasted in the DRCMC and I have an opening for a junior solicitor role in the Investigation Department that I think you'd be perfect for."

"Oh," Hermione had assumed she was called here to speak about the attack in Piccadilly Circus, so it was a complete surprise that Robards had offered her a job instead. "I don't have any schooling in solicitation," Hermione admitted. "I'm not sure I would be qualified."

"Ach, that's for Muggles. You would learn on the job here. We'd pair you with a senior solicitor, I'm thinking Mafalda Hopkirk, who would train you up. I think you could be great here, and you wouldn't be getting tea for Quigly anymore, eh?"

Hermione flushed. Did everyone know about that?

"Can I take a day or so to think about it?" Hermione asked.

"Of course, take a couple of days. Let me know your thoughts by Friday. I hope to be working with you soon, Miss Granger." Robards offered her a large grin and Hermione smiled back at him.

As she left his office, she wondered how she would have come to the attention of someone like Robards. Granted, she was a war hero, but her work record wasn't really any sort of recommendation.  _Tom_. He'd been harping on her to get out of the DRCMC and into the DMLE for months. She would bet anything that Tom was behind this. It made her both angry at him for meddling in her career and thankful that she might actually find a way out from under Quigly.

Hermione was too angry to return to work, so she took the lift down to level ten, where the Wizengamot courtrooms and offices were located.

"Hermione!" Malfoy stood quickly when he spotted her walking down the hallway toward Tom's office. Malfoy knocked hurriedly on the door behind him as Hermione approached. Hermione smirked at Malfoy, he was essentially acting as Tom's secretary and something about that made her laugh.

"Not now, Draco," Tom sounded exasperated through the door.

"Uh, Hermione's here, Tom," Draco said quickly opening the door just a crack.

The door flew open and Nott was ushered out. Nott gave her a nod as he went to sit at the empty desk next to Draco's. It appeared Tom's bodyguards were both acting as his secretaries.

"Hermione, love! What are you doing here?" Tom stepped forward, pushing Malfoy aside, and escorted her into his office. He settled them both on a low, leather couch and began pouring tea.

Hermione stood though; she was too anxious for tea, too upset by Tom's manipulations. She paced before the coffee table as Tom sipped his tea.

"Want to tell me what this is about?" Tom asked gently.

"When are you going to stop manipulating me, Tom?" Hermione practically shouted. "I told you to leave my career alone! I will handle it!"

"I see Robards spoke with you today," Tom commented lightly. The fact that he wasn't engaging in the fight that Hermione was trying to start only made her angrier.

"Yes, Robards called me to his office. I thought I was about to be grilled over the Piccadilly Circus incident and I was quite nervous! And here I find out he's just offered me a job. And junior solicitor at that! As if I have any experience as a solicitor!"

"He offered to train you, I assume?" Tom asked.

"That's not the fucking point!" Hermione shouted. "The point is I  _told_  you to let me handle it! And instead, you went behind my back! Again! This isn't going to fucking work if you never fucking listen to me!"

"Oh, like you handled getting a Gringotts account?" Tom asked. He rose from the sofa and narrowed his eyes at Hermione. "Or how about how you handled getting the war crime charges against you dropped? Those are taken care of, by the way. Robards had to formally drop them in order to offer you the position."

"Tom," Hermione warned.

"No, Hermione. Listen to me. In order to rule the world, you need a better job. You can't accomplish that from the DRCMC and you know it."

"I don't want to rule the world, Tom! That's you!" Hermione accused.

"Then what do you want?" Tom asked, softer.

The question seemed to take the wind out of Hermione's sails. She didn't know what she wanted.

"I want to make the world a better place," Hermione said quietly. But was she doing that in the DRCMC? With her busy work and her acting as a tea service?

"Then do it from the DMLE. Don't waste another second of your life in the DRCMC, Hermione," Tom pleaded with her.

"I asked Robards to let me think about it," Hermione replied. All the anger was gone and she was just left feeling exhausted.

"Good," Tom nodded. He stepped around the coffee table and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Think about it for a few days, but you'll see that I'm right. You can do more good in the world from the DMLE than from the DRCMC." He didn't add that her DRCMC job wasn't even that effective, but he didn't need to. Hermione was completely aware of that all on her own.

* * *

_March 2003_

_Grimmauld Place_

_London, England_

* * *

Hermione's hands shook as she watched 12 Grimmauld Place from across the street. She wasn't sure why she had come, but she felt the need to try and reach out to Ginny. Ginny was a hothead, but she'd always been more rational than Harry. It was early morning and about the time Harry usually arrived at work. Sure enough, not a moment later, and the door to

Harry's home opened. He stood on the doorstep for a moment, looking around, and then turned to his left and disappeared with a small pop.

Hermione let out a slow sigh. Harry had looked so normal, and Hermione was suddenly homesick for the days when they had all still been friends. It hadn't been since sixth year of Hogwarts that things actually felt normal between the four of them. Funny, how long ago that was and yet how little time had passed. Taking another deep breath, she hurried across the street and knocked on the door before she could think about it again.

"Hermione?" Ginny looked surprised when she opened the door.

"Hi, Ginny." Hermione offered her a soft smile. "I was hoping we could talk."

Ginny looked unsure of herself for a moment before she opened the door all the way and gestured Hermione inside. She led Hermione down the short staircase to the kitchen and began making tea.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny asked, setting a mug of tea before her. Hermione picked it up, taking a small sip and allowing the hot tea to warm her hands.

"I was hoping you and I could talk. Without the threat of testosterone," Hermione smiled, hoping the joke would ease the way.

Ginny frowned. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you being here," she said, her hand fluttered to her midsection. "You have a darker aura about you."

"Channeling Luna, now?" Hermione asked. She kept her voice gentle but seethed inside. Since when did Ginny give a fig for things like auras? "I'm the same person I always was," Hermione said.

"No, something about you has changed," Ginny insisted. "It's like a raw power that you didn't have before. I'm not sure I'd be able to sense it if I weren't—" she abruptly cut herself off, her hand settling on her stomach before falling away again.

Suddenly, Hermione realized that Ginny must be pregnant. She felt awful that she didn't know, and that Ginny was clearly trying to hide it from her.

"I'm the same," Hermione insisted. "I might have more power, but I'm the same person. I still want the same things."

"Ron's dead, did you know?" Ginny said, changing the subject. There were tears in her eyes, but she was trying desperately to hold them back.

"I know," Hermione said quietly.

"You didn't come to the service," Ginny said. There wasn't an accusation in her voice, but Hermione heard it nonetheless.

"I didn't think anyone would want me there," Hermione whispered. She looked down at her hands, still gripping the mug of tea. Unable to meet Ginny's eyes.

"Perhaps mum wouldn't have, but I did. So did George," Ginny replied.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said.

"You cast the  _Sectumsempra_  at him. How sorry can you be?" Ginny accused. Hermione could hear the beginnings of anger leech into her voice.

"He cast it first," Hermione reminded her. "And I didn't know you were even there," she added.

"Well, I was," Ginny spat. "How did Voldemort survive it anyway?"

"Same way Malfoy did in sixth year," Hermione replied. Harry's memories of the time were fuzzy, so she was betting on the fact that Ginny didn't know exactly how Malfoy had survived. Hermione herself didn't know, although she suspected that Professor Snape had lot to do with it.

"I don't like it," Ginny shook her head. "You have become too dark, Hermione."

"I'm not dark!" Hermione snapped. "I have more power, yes, but now I have the power to do something about all the shit I've been shoveling over the years."

"That's the whole point," Ginny said, looking frightened. "You plan to wield your power in ways I don't think you understand."

Suddenly, the fireplace in the kitchen flared green and an angry Harry strode through it.

"I knew my wards felt slimy," he sneered at Hermione. He pulled Ginny up from the bench and placed her behind him as he drew his wand, pointing it at Hermione. "It's time for the scum to leave."

"Harry," Hermione said, standing as well. She wanted to reason with him. She wanted him to see that she wasn't the enemy.

"No!" Harry shouted. "Get out of my house! And leave  _my_  wife alone!"

Hermione pursed her lips for a moment before nodding. She stepped back toward the kitchen door, fingering her wand in her arm holster, but not drawing it.

"Congratulations," she offered to Ginny. Then she turned her back on both Harry and Ginny and walked out of Grimmauld Place.

* * *

_March 2003_

_Hermione's Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Hermione stewed about the job offer in the DMLE and her meeting with Ginny for two days. She barely spoke to Tom during that time, and he being the bright wizard he was, left her alone. She couldn't figure out what the right path forward was. It was becoming increasingly apparent to her that there would be no renewing of friendship between her and Harry. And if she didn't have Harry, then what did she have?

_Tom_ , a voice whispered in her mind. She sighed and closed her eyes. She'd tied herself irrevocably to Tom. There wasn't any turning back now, so why was she having doubts? Was it just the death of her old, safe, comfortable life? Wasn't she a Gryffindor? Her choice had been made the moment that Ron had cast the Sectumsempra. She chose Tom then and broke several laws bringing him back to life. She couldn't cast him aside now in hopes that Harry and Ginny would take her back. She knew Harry, the man held a grudge almost as well as Snape had.

"Hey," Tom said, leaning on the doorway of the sitting room. Hermione had been staring at the books spread across her coffee table for hours, mulling everything that had happened over the last few days.

"Hey," Hermione smiled up at him softly.

"Are you talking to me now?" Tom asked. His expression was bland, but his tone was hopeful.

"I want to rule the fucking world," Hermione said decisively. "I've been thinking it over, and Harry and Ron," her voice broke when she mentioned her dead friend, but she swallowed hard and continued on, "haven't done  _anything_  with their power since the war ended. They could have done  _so_  much and they wasted it on the Auror Department." Hermione considered the agenda she had drawn up when first starting out at the DRCMC, equal rights for house elves, werewolves, centaurs, and other magical creatures—that really ought to have been reclassified as beings like wizards were—had been high up on her list. Harry and Ron played happy poster-boys for the Ministry and the press and got full pardons and Gringotts accounts. Hermione wanted to change the world and got bupkis. It was infuriating and she finally felt like she was ready to do something about it.

Tom grinned slowly and stepped further into the room. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

"But I have rules," Hermione said. She stood and stuck her finger out at him, ticking off her list. "No Death Eaters, no torture, magical creature and beings rights get brought to the front of the agenda."

Tom's grin turned into a smirk as he stepped closer to her. He made to wrap his arms around her waist, but Hermione held him off with a small push against his chest. "Any other rules?" Tom asked.

"I also reserve the right to add more as I see fit. I want us to be equals, Tom. I'm not your 'follower' and I never will be."

"Good," Tom replied. "I don't want you to be my follower anyway. I want you standing by my side as we take the wizarding world by storm."

"And my rules?" Hermione asked.

"I haven't tortured a soul since I arrived. Theo and Draco were technically Death Eaters before I came back, nobody has been Marked since my return," Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Tom spoke over her, " _nor_  do I plan to Mark anyone."

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The tension in her chest and shoulders eased. "And the creature and beings rights issue?"

"I have a bill drafted already. Would you like to look through it?" Tom asked.

Hermione's lips twitched, but she kept her face serious. She loved that he knew her so well. "What do you want in return?" She had learned a lot since Tom had come forward in time all those months ago. Namely, for Slytherins at least, nothing was ever free.

"I want your agreement that the separation between the wizarding and Muggle worlds is too thin."

"What? I don't think that's—"

"Hear me out. You're a Muggleborn. What would it have been like if you would have known all along that you were a witch? What if you had gone to a school just for wizards as a child? Were you ostracized in your Muggle school? Did your parents take you to numerous doctors to figure out what was wrong with you? Were you medicated unnecessarily? All I'm advocating for is that we make contact with Muggleborn parents and children much, much earlier in life. The first sign of magic that requires an Obliviation, in fact. That way we aren't intrusive, but if the Ministry needs to come out to Obliviate an entire grocery store of Muggles, then the parents of that child aren't also Obliviated."

Hermione blinked at Tom. She had never given it much thought. Professor McGonagall had come by her home when she turned eleven with her letter for Hogwarts and it had been a very long afternoon from there. But Tom wasn't wrong. There had been numerous times as a child, prior to Hogwarts, that she had been cast out from her peers. Her parents had made her see a Muggle psychologist for a while. They'd even talked of putting her on some sort of medication for a hyperactive disorder that she didn't actually have.

"I can reluctantly agree to that," Hermione said slowly. She put her hand up when Tom opened his mouth to speak. "I say reluctantly because while I agree earlier contact and more frequent contact prior to Hogwarts would be a good thing, I do not want to  _force_  Muggleborn parents into sending their child to a specialized school. Nor do I want to turn it into some sort of pogrom."

"I can agree to those terms," Tom said. "So are we agreed? We rule the world and you set the agenda?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes, I think so."

"Good." Then Tom knelt down before her and pulled a ring box from his pocket.

"Tom?! What are you doing?" Hermione asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Hush, I'm proposing. Hermione Granger, would you consent to be my wife? With the caveat that we  _both_  take your name?"

"I… I don't know what to say…" Hermione shook her head. She hadn't thought about marrying Tom. She had assumed they would be together for life, especially with their souls bound as they were now, but marriage? It honestly hadn't even crossed her mind.

"You are supposed to say yes," Tom said. Hermione could see the smirk playing about his lips and she couldn't stop her own answering grin.

"Yes."

"Thank, Merlin," Tom grinned, standing quickly and pulling her into a passionate kiss. Hermione responded enthusiastically and wrapped her arms around his neck. She had known she'd tied her life to Tom's, irrevocably, but the idea of being his wife was now percolating in her thoughts. She found herself more excited than she'd ever thought she would be at the idea of being someone's wife.

"Soon, you'll get to be Mrs Granger," Tom smirked at her pulling away and sliding the ring onto her left hand.

"You know that wizards don't usually do rings, right?" Hermione asked, admiring the beauty and simplicity of the solitaire he had chosen.

"We were both raised in the Muggle world," Tom said with a shrug. "I thought you would appreciate the gesture."

"I do," Hermione said, smiling up at him. His dark blue eyes twinkled and Hermione's heart raced at the promise she found in them.

"I think we should commemorate the occasion with another ritual," Tom said. He trailed his fingers down Hermione's arm, making her shiver in anticipation of what he had planned.

"I take it you already have one in mind?"

"I do," Tom hummed into her ear, dragging her lobe between his teeth. Hermione's nipples responded immediately and she sighed, melting further into his embrace. "If we do the earth ritual, we'll have the whole set." Tom's words in her ear were fuel to the arousal that was already coursing through Hermione.

"I'm in," she moaned as he sucked hard on her pulse point.

"We'll have to go to Theo's again," Tom warned.

Hermione laughed. "Theo's probably had enough of me."

"Nobody could ever have enough of you."

Hermione whimpered as Tom pressed another kiss to her lips. His own lips were both soft and firm. The kisses were both coaxing and demanding, and Hermione felt compelled to respond. Tom kissed her until she was breathless, then he pulled away again.

"Enough, let's go to Theo's now," Tom breathed against her lips.

"Now?" Hermione hadn't realized he was prepared for the ritual already.

"Yes. Now. Today. You are mine, wholly, completely mine. I want to finish this last ritual with you, one that will leave us the most magically powerful couple in all of wizarding Britain. Then I want to rule the fucking world with you."

Hermione had never thought the idea of ruling the world sounded all that sexy, until the phrase was coming out of Tom's mouth when he was looking at her like that. She grinned at him slowly and nodded.

"Alright, let's go."

* * *

_March 2003_

_Nott Park_

_Bedfordshire, England_

* * *

Hermione hadn't read up much on the earth ritual. She was expecting Tom to take her to the standing stones again, the ones they had used for the fire ritual, but he led her past them and into the forest beyond the stones.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked as she hurried to keep up with Tom's pace.

"Earth ritual," Tom said, as if that explained anything.

"Could you fill me in? I didn't really read up on it."

Hermione could hear the smirk in Tom's voice as she followed him deeper into the forest. The trees were just beginning to sprout the buds that would soon turn into leaves. And the air still held a chill from winter in it.

"I figured as much. Since it's an earth ritual, we'll need to commune with the earth. The fire ritual, fire protected us; the air ritual involved the ghosts of my followers; the water ritual, was literally in the water. Ergo, the earth ritual will also be in the earth."

" _In_  the earth? How are we expected to have sex while buried beneath the earth?" Hermione asked.

Tom laughed and asked her to trust him. Of course, Hermione trusted him. If she didn't trust Tom than what would she even have in her life? She'd blown up her entire life for him. A few moments later, they broke through the dense wood and found themselves in a very small clearing. It was hardly more than a hollow. At the center of the clearing was a very old tree; it's roots were half-exposed and Hermione didn't think she and Tom could encircle the tree with their arms and touch the others hands the diameter of the trunk was so large.

"Is that a Mother Oak?" Hermione asked, awe heavy in her voice as she took in the giant visage in front of her. Mother Oaks were extremely rare in the wizarding world, and Hermione had only heard of one other which was on the grounds of Hogwarts in the Forbidden Forest. This one stood at least forty-five meters in the air and towered over the clearing and all of the other nearby trees. It was also the furthest along in leaf development for the time of year, sporting tiny leaves that would grow larger as spring turned into summer.

"The oldest one in Britain," Tom said, nodding.

"Older than the one at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. She tipped her head back to watch as the top-most branches swayed ever so slightly in the soft, spring breeze.

Tom hummed affirmatively.

"I feel sort of weird having sex in such an ancient place," Hermione whispered.

Tom's chuckle was low and deep in his chest. "Don't worry, we won't be the first people performing an earth ritual here. There have been hundreds or thousands over the millennia this tree has been here."

"Merlin, millennia…" Hermione breathed. She was dumbstruck as she considered the age of the tree in context to her own minuscule life.

"Mmm," Tom hummed again. He circled behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Hermione shivered at the touch and leaned back into him. He nuzzled her neck, planting soft kisses. Sweeping her hair to the other side of her head, he nipped at her earlobe and Hermione's knees almost buckled. How was it he had such an effect on her? A few kisses and she was practically panting.

"The ritual?" Hermione prompted.

"It's simple," Tom said. "We unclothe, give an offer of our blood to Mother Oak here, then climb into her cradle," he pointed to the exposed roots where it looked like there was just enough room underneath for them to lay horizontally, "then we fuck." Tom's hips snapped into hers at that final word and Hermione could feel that he was hard already.

"Alright," Hermione nodded. She snapped her fingers and was pleased when Tom gasped in shock. She'd undressed them both and felt her power coursing through her veins.

"I love it when you take charge," Tom growled, shuffling them both forward. Silently he summoned their ceremonial knife. When they were standing at the base of the tree's exposed roots, Tom stopped her, handing her the knife first.

Hermione took the knife, slicing open her left palm. She turned it over, splattering the roots at her feet in her blood. "Mother Oak, please accept this sacrifice of my blood for your strength. I hope you find me worthy," Hermione whispered.

Tom followed suit, slicing his own hand, saying the same words and then with a little difficulty, they both crawled into the cradle beneath the tree. It was a tight fit, the earth around them was hard packed and all Hermione could see beyond Tom was a writhing mass of roots. It wasn't quite comfortable, but at least there weren't any rocks or anything digging into Hermione's back.

"Cozy," Tom murmured in her ear. There was barely enough room for the two of them. It took just a little maneuvering for Tom to sink down into her heat, but when he did, they both sighed in contentment. Her legs couldn't quite get around his waist, the fit in the cradle was too tight, but she was able to bring her knees up, allowing her to tilt her hips forward.

"I fucking love this," Hermione moaned. She clasped her hands around Tom's back, unable to reach much more than the expanse of his own back.

Tom grunted in reply and Hermione concentrated in bringing the sparks of magic to her fingertips.

"Fucking hell," Tom grunted when Hermione grasped his arse, pulling him tighter to her, her magic sparking across his skin. Tom pressed his mouth to Hermione's, smothering her moans as he picked up his pace and began truly plowing into her. She had a feeling Tom didn't care for the small space beneath the tree and wanted to get out as soon as possible. She wasn't quite sure why or how she knew that, but there it was in her brain. So she began rhythmically tightening her inner muscles. As they moved, it seemed the roots above and around them also moved in time with them.

"Merlin, going to fucking come if you keep that up," Tom hissed. He had pulled away from her lips and buried his face into her shoulder.

"That's the point, love," Hermione panted. She found she was getting close as well. Tom's pace seemed to impossibly increase even more and Hermione arched her back as his pubic bone ground against her clit. "That's it," she murmured.

"Fuck," Tom shouted and his pace lost all control. Hermione squeezed and squeezed her pelvic muscles and just as Tom's seed began to spurt inside her, she found herself tumbling off into a pool of pleasure, her entire body tensing with the effort.

"That was quick," Tom murmured.

Hermione laughed. "It seemed like you weren't interested in drawing it out."

Tom shuddered. "I wasn't. I don't really care for small spaces."

"Let's get out of here."

As they scrambled out of the tight space, Hermione was sure she felt a root reach out and caress her foot. She didn't pause to think about it though, the whole experience had been a tad too creepy for her.

* * *

_March 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

Hermione settled into her new role in the DMLE with more ease than she expected. Part of this was due to the permanent power increase the final ritual had given her and Tom. The other part was that Gawain Robards truly was an excellent boss and gave Hermione all the assistance and training she needed. The only hiccup was when she was told to hire an assistant. Hermione had never had an assistant, nor had anyone to manage and found she was looking forward to the opportunity. But when she mentioned it to Tom, he'd insisted she hire either Pansy or Millie.

The argument that ensued had lasted for an hour and a half and ended in angry sex against the wall.

And the following day, Hermione hired Millie. She was quieter than Pansy, which Hermione appreciated, but also more observant. Pansy was given a role in Tom's office, and then assigned to Hermione as security. Which caused another argument, but a smaller one. Tom had both Theo and Draco as his own security whenever he was in the Ministry or out in public in either the wizarding or Muggle worlds.

"Don't they have lives of their own?" Hermione asked Tom.

"Of course, they do," Tom replied. "But neither of them want to go through what happened a few weeks ago."

Hermione shuddered. She still had nightmares of Tom dying. She was sure she'd  _always_  have nightmares about that day.

"Which is also why I've assigned Millie and Pansy to you," Tom continued.

"Assigned them? What exactly does that mean?" Hermione asked.

"It means they are your security team, who masquerade as your friends and assistant."

Hermione sighed, but she knew there was no arguing with Tom on the matter. And despite hating being followed everywhere, Pansy and Millie weren't bad company. They did make Hermione feel safer when out in Diagon Alley. So she allowed them to be her bodyguards and hoped that they worked as a preventative measure. Surely, Harry had learned his lesson from the debacle in Piccadilly Circus, right?


	16. Machinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Many thanks to RachaelLA26 for her beta work! Two more chapters to go!**
> 
> **If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff or Facebook at Shan Crochetaway.**

  

* * *

_April 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

Hermione wasn't superstitious. She didn't toss salt over her shoulder when it was spilled, nor did she pick up pennies or knuts when she saw them lying on the street. She didn't have much opportunity to walk under ladders, but she wouldn't be afraid if she had to. Nor did she mind black cats, and she frequently carried her umbrella inside while it was still open. But it had been six weeks since Harry and his group—the Red Cloaks as Tom called them, Hermione preferred to call them the Rogue Order—had attacked them in Piccadilly Circus and she felt an ominous pall hanging over her.

She hoped it was just her anxiety and nerves.

After the fiasco in the Wizengamot with Kingsley standing up for Harry, Hermione was almost sure that Harry was keeping his head down in order to hold onto his job. She'd seen him a few times since she'd moved to the DMLE, but always from afar. Millie worked hard on making sure that Hermione and Harry never crossed paths. Something that Hermione hadn't thought she'd appreciate nearly as much as she did.

But despite all of that, the silence from Harry's camp made her nervous.

"Ms Granger?" Millie's disembodied voice came from the crystal ball on the corner of Hermione's desk. She tapped the ball with her wand.

"Yes?"

"Mr Riddle is out here for you."

Hermione sighed and smiled at the same time. "Send him in."

Tom had made it a habit to visit her in her office at least once or twice a week. His visits were never short. Nor professional. But Hermione couldn't find it in her heart to care about the professionalism—or lack thereof—of it all.

"You look good behind that desk," Tom said as he sauntered through the door. Millie closed it swiftly and Hermione felt her place a silencing spell around the room. Millie was also discreet. Another trait Hermione liked about her.

"I do, don't I?" Hermione cocked her head and smiled at him.

"You'd look better if you were just a little more disheveled," Tom replied. He crossed her office quickly and before Hermione could stand he was kneeling before, unbuttoning her robes and flinging them to the side.

"Tom," Hermione sighed, running her hands through his hair, bringing his face to her so she could kiss him.

Tom ran his hands up her stockinged calves, pushing her knees apart when he reached them. Hermione slid her bum further down in the chair as Tom hiked her skirt up to her hips. He slid her knickers aside and spread apart her pussy lips, sliding his tongue through her folds there until he found her clit. He began circling it and Hermione's back arched. It's not that she didn't love this, didn't love what Tom was able to elicit from her body, but on days he visited her, she was never as productive as she could be.

"Merlin, witch, what will it take for you to get out of that pretty head of yours?" Tom murmured against her cunt.

Hermione laughed softly, shifting slightly in her seat to open herself more to him. "Keep doing that and I'm sure I won't be thinking about anything but you." Her voice sounded surprisingly husky to her.

"You better," Tom growled and licked her from arse to clit. Hermione groaned loudly, thankful once more that Millie had the foresight to cast a silencing charm.

Suddenly, there were two fingers thrusting inside her and Hermione's head dropped to the back of her chair as she bucked her hips forward. Tom sucked her clit into his mouth, tapping it with his tongue in the way that set fire to Hermione's veins. Her legs spasmed and shook with her impending orgasm and Hermione's hands clenched into Tom's hair, holding his head so tightly to her that she was sure she was suffocating him.

When her orgasm finally ripped through her, it felt as if an explosion took place inside her. She screamed her completion in a guttural tone that echoed throughout her office. Tom took his time, licking her completion from her labia and thighs.

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes, totally relaxed in her desk chair. "Congratulations, you succeeded," she told Tom when he stopped his ministrations. She cracked an eyelid to see that he was smirking at her, still crouched between her legs. "What, no encore?"

Tom chuckled. "Nope. That was all for you. I have to get back to the Wizengamot. We're debating the quality of foreign Potions ingredients this afternoon. I wanted to have something to distract me…" he licked his fingers, seeming to savor the taste, "this will do."

"You are incorrigible," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"But you love me for it, fiancé," Tom reminded her, giving a small tug on the ring on her left hand and planting a kiss on her lips. "Better get cleaned up before Millie comes back in," Tom breathed against her mouth.

Hermione nodded, giving him one last kiss before sending him out of her office.  _Merlin, the things that man was capable of._

* * *

_April 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

Eight weeks after the attack in Piccadilly Circus, Hermione couldn't take it anymore. She went to see Harry. She didn't want to involve Ginny, so she decided to talk to him at work. It took some maneuvering, she didn't want Tom to know what she was doing, which meant that Millie and Pansy couldn't know either, but she'd found a pretense to send both Pansy and Millie on an errand, and snuck out of her office.

Harry's office was on the same level as Hermione's, although on opposite sides of the building. She placed a stack of files in her hands and walked quickly as if she were late for a meeting. Luckily nobody stopped her.

Harry was in his office, his face bent over his desk, pouring over a piece of parchment in front of him. Hermione didn't knock. She walked right in and shut the door.

"What do you want?" Harry asked coldly. He didn't bother looking up at Hermione. "I think I told you I wasn't interested in hearing what you had to say."

"Harry, please," Hermione whispered. "Please, just drop this thing between you and Tom. We'll let the attack at Piccadilly Circus go if you just drop it."

"Will Tom?" Harry asked, finally looking up at her. His eyes were as cold as she'd ever seen them and she fought back a shiver.

"Of course, he will. Tom  _wants_  peace," Hermione told him. "Ron has already lost his life to this senselessness. Let's let it die with him. Let's end it."

"Ron is dead because Tom killed him," Harry reminded her.

"No." Hermione shook her head. "He didn't."

"He did. Then he made a Horcrux," Harry's smile then was grim. "You were seen, Hermione. We know you were there when Tom made a Horcrux. You seemed to have sanctioned it."

_Fuck,_  Hermione thought. She'd been so far gone with grief, she hadn't realized any of the Rogue Order were still about when Tom had died. There was nothing for it.

"No, that didn't happen!"

"It did," Harry insisted. "Where's the Horcrux Hermione? Has he used it up already? He was hit with the Sectumsempra, wasn't he? There's only one way to heal that spell."

_He knows_ , flitted through her mind and before she quite realized what she was doing, Hermione had her wand in her hand and she hexed Harry.

Harry had always been the better dueler, he dropped out of his chair and rolled out of the way of her incoming hex.  _His office is too small for this_ , Hermione thought wildly as she shielded against the barrage Harry was sending her way.

"Is this how you feel about me?" Harry asked, panting, while Hermione sent a slicing jinx at him and dodged a nasty looking orange spell from Harry.

"I think you are being a child, Harry Potter," Hermione snarled. "I offered to settle this like adults!"

"You cast first," Harry replied, finally landing a stinging jinx on Hermione's shoulder. Thankfully it was her left arm, as the whole arm went numb and she'd surely have dropped her wand had it hit the other arm. Hermione tossed a pile of books at Harry from the bookshelf behind her.

" _Arresto Momentum!"_  Harry shouted, stopping the books in midair. They fell to the floor with a clatter. "Really? You'd harm books? Who are you?"

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione shouted sending a blasting curse into the wall behind Harry. He ducked under his desk as the wall behind him flew apart. Hermione's shield kept most of the debris from injuring her.

Harry yanked on her foot, sending Hermione to the floor. Her wand clattered out of her hand with the impact of her fall and she twisted in a desperate bid to reach for it, but Harry had her pinned. He grasped her shoulders and slammed her head into the floor beneath her. Again and again until Hermione's vision began to dim.

"It's  _your_  fault Ron is dead," Harry hissed, putting his face right over hers. He was heavy as he straddled her waist. "I won't let Voldemort come back to power. I've spent my whole fucking life fighting him and I won't let him win now."

"Harry…" Hermione gasped. She was sure she was bleeding, not just from the head wound Harry had given her, but also from landing and scrabbling around on the debris-strewn floor. Books, wood, concrete, the floor was a mess and something rather sharp was poking into Hermione's lower back quite fiercely.

"NO!" Harry shouted. "You fucking listen to me! He killed my parents! He killed Sirius, and Dumbledore, and Snape! He killed everyone, Hermione. I don't understand why you can't see that?"

"He's not the same person," Hermione said. She still had her right arm extended, trying to reach for her wand. When it occurred to her that she had more power than Harry now. She didn't need her wand most of the time, especially not for little spells like Accio. Harry's face was enraged now and he reared back to hex her or shake her some more but Hermione took that moment to break her eye contact with him and look at her wand. A moment later and it was in her hand.

"Bombarda!" Hermione coughed, her wand pointed at Harry's chest. He flew off of her and into the wall opposite, slumping awkwardly down it. Hermione didn't wait to check on him. She crawled out of his office and was not surprised to find Pansy standing there.

"Circe, fuck, Granger," Pansy grunted at the sight of her. "Millie!"

Between the two of them, they hauled Hermione upright and shuffled her toward the lifts. The Ministry wasn't easy to get out of in a hurry. No Apparating in and out, except in the Atrium. Same for Flooing. Only the fireplaces in the Atrium were on the Floo network. It was the longest trek of Hermione's life. Everything hurt. She was quite sure one of her ankles was broken and perhaps a rib or two as well. She didn't even want to know what Harry had done to the back of her head, but she knew it couldn't be good. Especially when she realized she was seeing two Pansy's.

* * *

_April 2003_

_Hermione's Flat_

_Diagon Alley, London, England_

* * *

Tom hadn't seen Hermione in her office when he was ready to leave the Ministry for the day, so he headed home alone. Which was strange, they generally left together, so he didn't know why Hermione wouldn't have waited for him. Perhaps she had an appointment she hadn't told him about? He wasn't truly worried, because neither Millie nor Pansy had been in the DMLE either. Which meant at least she had her protection with her.

When he arrived home, the lights in the apartment were on, but still no sign of Hermione.

"Hello?" he called out as he hung his outer cloak up in the front hallway.

"Oh, Tom, you're back," Pansy said from the hallway that led to the bedroom. Tom thought she looked nervous.

"Pansy, what's going on?"

"It's Hermione. She had a little accident at work—"

Tom didn't need to hear anything else, he pushed past Pansy and sprinted down the hallway to the bedroom. Bursting through the door Tom's heart almost stopped. Millie was sitting on the bed, wiping Hermione's face. Hermione looked… dead. She looked dead, her skin was so pale and Tom thought he might vomit.

"She's just sleeping," Pansy whispered from behind him.

She didn't look like she was sleeping. She had a bandage wrapped around her head, another that was wrapped around her ribs, and her left ankle was propped up.

"What happened?" Tom growled.

"Potter," Millie sighed. "But I had her checked out already. Vaisey is a Healer at St Mungo's and came as soon as he was called. She's stable. Now she just needs rest."

That's when Hermione began to stir. Tom took two steps into the room and Millie moved out of the way so Tom could take her place. Hermione's hand felt limp and cold in his own as he picked it up.

"T-Tom?" Hermione asked. Her eyes were barely open.

"It's me," Tom replied. He felt like he was doing a good job of keeping his anger buried, but apparently, Hermione saw through him because she flinched when she opened her eyes all the way. "Why didn't you take Millie and Pansy with you? Why even talk to Potter at all?"

"Harry's… he's like a brother to me, Tom. The only family I've had in the wizarding world. We grew up together. I didn't… he never would have…"

"But he did. And wasn't Weasley also your brother?" Tom spat.

"No," Hermione tried shaking her head but winced and closed her eyes instead. "Ron was my ex. I… I grieve for his loss."

"Even though his death saved me?" Tom asked. He hated the vulnerability in his voice. Didn't she know how he felt about her? He would burn the fucking world down for her and here she was subjecting herself to the likes of Potter.

"Especially because he saved you," Hermione whispered. She gripped his hand tighter, but Tom was too angry to be here with her.

"Tom!" Hermione cried as he stood up and stormed out of the room.

"Protect her. Care for her. Your lives depend on it," Tom hissed to Millie and Pansy, who were standing at the door to the bedroom.

He was too angry for reason, which he knew meant he needed to find Theo or Draco. Because he couldn't go after Potter. Not after all of his carefully laid plans. And he wouldn't fuck up his bid to rule the world just because Hermione had gotten herself almost killed. No, he needed backup if he was going to step up this little war between him and Potter.

The moment he was outside of Hermione's wards, Tom Apparated to Nott Park. He stormed through the front door, the door immediately to the right of the entry hall was a sitting room that Theo professed to hate, Tom decided he hated it too. He burst through the doors and sent a blasting curse at the ugly paisley sofa and another at a curio cabinet in the corner. The noise of the furniture exploding around him would surely rouse Theo.

"There was a Ming in there," Theo commented from the doorway who sent an Incendio at the fireplace. He sounded tired and resigned. Tom sent a third blasting curse at a divan that was practically begging for it. The light from the fireplace at least helped him see some of the destruction he was causing.

"Care to tell me what this is all about?" Theo asked.

"Not particularly," Tom growled. He gazed over the damage he'd wrought. Bits of wood and fabric covered the floor. Glass and porcelain from the curio cabinet crunched underfoot as Tom took a slow turn around the room.

"Well, this was only the second best sitting room. It needed redecorating anyway. Maybe you could take care of Aunt Mildred above the fireplace there? She's dreadfully opinionated for a portrait."

Tom glared at Theo and sent a slicing hex followed by a Silencio at the portrait. Aunt Mildred got in a second of a scream before she was silenced for good. Tom didn't even bother to look at her as she ran from her frame.

"Thanks." Theo smirked at him.

Tom turned around and took a deep breath. He still felt like killing Potter.

"I brought the Firewhisky," Draco announced. Tom whirled around to find Draco standing just behind Theo holding two full bottles of liquor.

"Well, let us proceed to the best sitting room then," Theo said. Tom could detect a note of sarcasm in his voice, but he didn't care that Theo was mocking him. Or that Draco almost laughed about it. These were his friends, and while the concept was rather new to Tom, he found he liked the camaraderie they offered. They were different from Hermione, but seemingly almost as important in his life. He shuddered to imagine what he would have done if he didn't have them to turn to. Probably gone to murder Potter and been locked in Azkaban for his efforts. Not a very Slytherin approach, but even Tom was hotheaded enough to do some truly stupid things sometimes.

"Well?" Theo prompted once they were settled in his study.

"Hermione was attacked," Tom said. His voice lacking any emotion.

Draco hissed a breath in through his teeth. Theo nodded as if he knew. "Pansy owled me. It arrived about five minutes before you showed up."

"Who?" Draco asked.

"Fucking Potter," Tom swore. "The worst part is that  _she_  went to talk to  _him_."

"Mate," Theo said, "she  _chose_  you."

"He will never quit," Tom replied quietly.

"Then kill him," Theo said breezily. Tom opened his mouth to say that he couldn't, but then he realized: Hermione had absolved him of the Unbreakable Vow that he'd made to not make another Horcrux and to not murder anyone. He was quite at liberty to kill whoever he wanted.

"I intend to," Tom replied grimly.

"Well, if murder is on the agenda, we can't plot on an empty stomach," Draco announced. He called for a house elf and ordered dinner for the three of them.

"How to murder Potter without causing a war?" Theo mused.

"Potter already thinks he's at war," Tom said. "We just need  _him_  to do the escalation."

"Without harming others," Draco reminded him. Tom nodded his agreement, he didn't want others to come to harm over this. Not only would it be terrible for the economy and society as a whole, war with casualties always meant there would be blame. And Tom wasn't willing to have any of that blame placed at his door.

"Unless we put some spin on it," Theo said.

"What are you thinking?" Tom asked. The house elf reappeared announcing dinner and the three of them retired to Theo's dining room.

"Potter had Voldemort, er you, living in his head, did you know that?" Theo asked.

"I'm sorry, what?" Tom turned to Draco to see if Draco had any idea what absurd nonsense Theo was talking about, but Draco looked just as bewildered as Tom felt.

Theo sighed. "Not many know about this, and by rights, I probably shouldn't know about it either, but I do. Voldemort," Tom appreciated that Theo chose to speak about Voldemort as if he were someone  _different_  than Tom, "made Horcruxes, right? But if you make  _too_  many Horcruxes your soul becomes unstable. Usually, whenever you make a Horcrux you split your soul in half. So if you make five Horcruxes and are attempting to make a sixth, you only have one thirty-second of your soul left to split. That makes it highly unstable."

Tom had known that Horcruxes were a bad idea from the way Hermione spoke about them, but the way Theo was discussing them made him cringe. He'd made three Horcruxes. With the final Horcrux, he'd at least attempted to put the majority of his soul into the Horcrux, leaving only a small portion behind to die, but if what Theo is saying is true, that meant he only had an eighth of his soul left at that point. Thank Merlin, he and Hermione had done the soul-bond ritual.

"What's your point?" Tom asked. "How does this equate to Voldemort living in Potter's head?"

"It's not known for sure what Voldemort planned to do the night he went to the Potter's attempting to kill baby Potter," Theo said. "He had five Horcruxes at that point. There was that prophecy, and I think that Voldemort would have found it poetic to make a Horcrux when fulfilling the prophecy."

"But Potter survived?" Draco asked.

"Right, so here's the theory. Voldemort's soul split when he killed  _Lily Potter_ , and when he attempted to kill Harry Potter, Lily's magic saved him, but because Voldemort's soul had split, the split piece of soul needed a receptacle. And since one wasn't prepared, it went into the only receptacle available: Potter."

"Potter was a Horcrux?" Draco asked.

Theo nodded. "And when Voldemort came back in fourth year, he was able to open a connection to Potter's mind."

"How do you know all of this?" Tom asked. He didn't want to be suspicious of Theo. Theo had been good to him over the last few months, but the instinct to be wary was a strong one.

"I swiped Potter's file from Shacklebolt's office."

"Well done, Theo," Tom praised him as he smiled. "Well, you must tell me everything then."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not even half-done," Theo said. " _Accio_  Potter File!"

A rustling sound was heard from deeper in the house, and then a thick file folder flew into the dining room and landed in Theo's outstretched hand.

"I think we can use the mental instability that the Ministry has accused Potter of in the past, combined with the fact that Voldemort used to have access to his brain to our advantage."

"A press offensive." Tom nodded approvingly.

"Exactly." Theo smirked.

"I'll owl Skeeter," Draco said.

Tom felt better than he had all day. He couldn't go out and kill Potter, but it wouldn't take too long to push Potter into showing his cards. The sooner Potter was dead or in Azkaban, the better. Then, once Potter was taken care of, Tom could use the information in Potter's file to oust Shacklebolt for covering it all up.


	17. The Spectacle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Many thanks to RachaelLA26 for her beta work! Here it is, the penultimate chapter!**
> 
> **And I don't say this nearly enough, but please know that I love each and every one of my readers, whether you review, favorite, like, or not at all. You are all precious to me. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I do hope you enjoy it. The final chapter will be up a week from today.**
> 
> **If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff or Facebook at Shan Crochetaway.**

  

* * *

  _June 2003_

_Nott Park_

_Bedfordshire, England_

* * *

The vows were over, the party in full swing, and Tom found himself handling business. Something he had promised Hermione he  _wouldn't_  do. But unfortunately, the world didn't pause just because they had gotten married.

"Take care of it, Flint," Tom hissed. Apparently, their wedding had been gatecrashed. Luckily, Tom's followers valued their lives enough to not fuck up Hermione's wedding day. Not that Hermione was the one they would have been answering too.

"On it," Flint nodded swiftly and hurried from Tom and toward the front gates of Nott Park. Thankfully, the disturbance of the gatecrashers had been kept to the front gate, which was far away from the rest of the party at the back of the estate.

"There you are," Hermione greeted him with a warm smile. Tom felt as if his breath was stolen from him once more. She looked so damned beautiful today. His heart clenched as he realized he would do  _anything_  for this witch. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her close for a kiss. One she enthusiastically responded too.

"Can we leave yet?" Tom asked as he kissed his way from her lips to that sweet spot just beneath her ear. The one that made her knees weak every damn time.

"Uh," Hermione groaned. "I think…" she trailed off at just the moment her knees turned to jelly and Tom stiffened his arms, holding her upright.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked. "You never did tell me."

"Because it's a surprise," Tom smirked and was pleased when she returned the smirk.

"I do rather like your surprises."

"Good, let's go then." Tom pulled away from her, grasping one of her hands in his as he headed toward the manor house and the Floo connection. In truth, Theo's wedding gift was where they were headed. Theo had gifted them a house. Tom hadn't even hinted that was what he wanted for his wedding present, although, he was quite pleased with it. He hoped Hermione would be too. He'd had Pansy and Millie furnishing it for the last month. Although, they wouldn't be seeing much of the inside of it that night.

Finally, making their way through Nott Park and to Theo's study. Tom threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire.

"Granger Court," he said firmly and pulled Hermione through the fireplace with him.

"What?" Hermione coughed and stumbled as they stepped out of the fireplace on the other side. "What did you call this place?" She didn't even bother looking around, her eyes were boring into his own and Tom wasn't sure if she was upset or just shocked.

"Granger Court," Tom said, squeezing her hand. He indicated the room they had stepped out in. It was a library, already half-filled with books. "It's our wedding gift from Theo, Draco, Pansy, and Millie."

"This? A house?" Hermione breathed. "Oh, Tom, it's too much!"

"Trust me, it's not too much," Tom chuckled. "It's actually a little on the small side, but I think that's something you will like about it."

"Who contributed what?" Hermione asked as she stepped forward, trailing her hand over the rich leather of a sofa.

"It was Theo's manor. His mother's dowry property I believe. He transferred the deed to you, actually, since I was taking your name, we changed the name at that time. Draco did the furnishings with Pansy and Millie's input on design."

"Wow," Hermione sighed as she turned in a slow circle taking it all in.

"We can check out the house later," Tom told her, stalking forward. He had a very specific set of plans for that evening and wasn't about to be put off over a house.

"Let's go." He entwined his hand with hers again and led her out of their house and to their garden. It was beautiful and in full bloom. Half of the reason Theo had gifted them this specific property lay behind the garden. A very small set of standing stones.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed upon seeing the setup. Tom had Draco out here preparing for the ritual he wanted to complete that night. There was a ring of oak around the outermost ring of standing stones. The inner ring had a ring of salt. On the altar were a bowl of water, a bowl of earth, and their ritual blood bowl and knife.

"Is this…?" Hermione trailed off as she stepped over the pile of wood at the outermost ring.

"A combination ritual," Tom said. "One meant to fuse our souls permanently. And cement our power for eternity."

"Eternity?" Hermione asked. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

"Meaning for as long as we live, and as long as our souls live after our bodies have died a natural death."

Hermione nodded and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. While the idea of living forever had always intrigued Tom, the thought that he wouldn't have Hermione with him someday had put a plug in any sort of immortality plans. He didn't want to live if he couldn't have Hermione. And Hermione didn't want immortality. Tom found he could be reasonable. At least where Hermione was concerned.

"The water…?" Hermione asked.

"From the underground lake in the cave," Tom assured her. "And the earth is from beneath the Mother Oak."

Hermione smiled softly. She snapped her fingers and her beautiful, simple wedding dress slid off her body. Tom was pleased to see she wasn't wearing anything underneath of it. He raked his eyes over her body, unable to believe that this incredible woman belonged to him.

"It seems you are overdressed, husband," Hermione drawled.

Tom's heart beat faster and he quirked an eyebrow at her. He slowly worked off his tie, followed by his robes, suit coat, and shirt. When he was just in his trousers and shoes, Hermione snapped her fingers and Tom found himself naked.

"You're taking too long. Get over here," Hermione said as she picked up the ceremonial knife. She sliced her left palm, allowing the blood to drip into the bowl below. "To all the old gods, whoever may listen, I give you this sacrifice. My body. My blood. To seal our souls and magic. Bless this union."

Tom grinned at her words and closed the final few steps to join her at the altar. The moment he crossed the salt ring, the wood ring leapt up in flame, closing them in. Then the salt ring turned into a channel of water, providing yet another barrier.

Hermione handed Tom the knife still dripping with her own blood and Tom used it to make a wound on his left hand. He repeated Hermione's words and then healed both of their hands with nothing more than the touch of his lips.

"Already, we are so powerful, wife," Tom said to Hermione as he trailed his hands along her shoulders. She shuddered underneath his touch. "Imagine how powerful we will be after this."

A stiff wind split through the fire at the south end of the standing stones circle, causing them both to shiver.

"Tom," Hermione breathed. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"On your hands and knees," Tom told her. Hermione scrambled on top of the altar to comply. She arched her back and Tom admired her form for a moment before he too joined her. He placed on hand on the back of her neck, the other at her hip, slipping it between her folds to test her readiness. "Oh, you are so ready for this," Tom grinned when his hand came back slick. He aligned himself with her and pushed inside.

"Oh," Hermione groaned, pushing her hips back into his. Tom loosened the grip on the back of her neck and tangled his hand in her hair. He pushed her upper back down until she had her chest to the altar and her arse in the air. "Fuck, Tom," Hermione whined.

Tom increased his pace, he wanted her to come quickly and knew this position was good for her. So he wasn't surprised when he felt the tell-tale fluttering of her walls around his cock.

"Come," he demanded, punctuating the command with a sharp snap of his hips. His cock hit her cervix and she groaned loudly as her orgasm washed over her. Tom rocked her through it and when she finally laid limp before him, he pulled out and turned her over onto her back.

"Merlin, Tom," Hermione sighed. Tom smirked at her and placed a soft kiss on her lips, but didn't linger there. Instead, he made his way down her body, pausing for a moment to kiss and lick her breasts. He kissed along her left hip bone before finally settling between his legs. "Tom," Hermione begged as he placed a chaste kiss at the top of her sex.

Her hands tangled in his hair as he licked and kissed her sweet cunt. His cock was hard and begging for relief, but Tom ignored it. It was Hermione's wedding night, he had to make her orgasm as many times as he could before he took his own pleasure.

Putting two fingers inside her slick channel, Tom began alternately sucking and licking Hermione's clit. It wasn't too terribly long before her legs were shaking and she was coming undone at his fingertips. Just as she was coming down, Tom sucked on her clit once more, he sealed his lips around it and tapped it with his tongue causing her to fall apart around him again.

"Tom, please," Hermione urged him up, tugging on his hair. He raised his head and grinned at her. "I need you to fuck me," she told him.

"Your wish—"

"Don't finish that sentence," Hermione warned. She yanked him up and flipped him to his back, straddling his stomach. "It's your turn," she said with a small smirk. Tom grinned at her as she pressed a brief kiss to his lips and then down his chest and finally to the head of his cock. Tom laced his fingers behind his head as Hermione worked. She swirled her tongue around him before sucking just the head in her mouth. Tom grunted and couldn't stop his hips from moving as she slowly took in more and more of him. She'd become quite proficient at deep throating and soon had her nose buried against his lower abdomen. The third time she swallowed around him, Tom reached his hands down and pulled her off of him.

"If you keep that up, I'll come," Tom warned her.

"Later then," Hermione promised and if possible, Tom's cock grew even harder. He moved to rearrange them, but Hermione placed her hands flat on his chest, keeping him on his back. She scrambled to sit atop him and within moments his cock was buried back into her warm cunt. It was impossibly tight and swollen with the number of orgasms she had and Tom almost choked at the feel of it around him. His eyes rolled back in his head as Hermione's hips rolled forward. Tom gripped her hips tightly in his hands as she found a rhythm that they both enjoyed.

"Going to rule the world with you," Hermione grunted. "Mr Granger."

"Mrs Granger," Tom groaned back and flexed his hips. Hermione fell forward at that, sliding her sweet, silky, slightly sweaty skin along his. He wrapped his arms around her and plundered her mouth with a kiss.

"Tom," Hermione cried out as she pulled away from his kiss a moment later. Tom could feel her walls getting impossibly tighter as Hermione's orgasm began building. He helped her move her hips up and down, as he punctuated each movement of hers with a thrust from below. Hermione's neck arched and she let loose a most primal cry as she climaxed and Tom would hold the image of her reaching her pleasure above him in his mind for the rest of his life. He grunted through his own orgasm as his seed spilled inside of her.

* * *

_June 2003_

_Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

* * *

Three weeks after Tom's wedding found him in Diagon Alley for lunch. Theo was walking alongside him, but Draco was still at the Ministry. A new eatery had opened that Tom wanted to check out before he took Hermione there. Theo was often a silent companion, which Tom appreciated. It let him alone with his thoughts without being completely alone.

Without warning a bright purple spell flew past Tom. He whirled around to find an assembly of Red-Cloaks behind him. All hooded. There were at least fifty that Tom could see and more Apparating in all the time. The Alley was soon filled with Potter's supporters.

"Potter," Tom spat. Despite the hood, Tom recognized the cocky stance of Potter at the front of the group.

"Voldemort," Potter spat back, tossing back his hood. "You do not belong here and I will be the one to put you in your place once more."

"I think you have me confused with someone else," Tom hissed. To Theo he whispered, "Call for backup."

Tom was prepared this time, he'd had his followers warned that a confrontation was likely coming. Theo sent off a Patronus and moments later, the first of Tom's followers began to Apparate into Diagon Alley.

"You poor, deluded bastard," Tom continued. "This delusion that I am Voldemort is getting out of hand, Potter. I'm Tom Granger, originally from Albania, don't you know? I married your best friend after all."

" _She_  is  _not_  my best friend! She's as much a traitor as you are!" Potter shouted and threw a hex at Tom. He easily blocked it but didn't return a spell of his own. He didn't think it was possible at this stage, but he'd like to de-escalate this situation without it turning into an actual battle.

"Potter," Tom tried again. But Potter was done talking, he sent a volley of hexes and curses Tom's way, lighting up Diagon Alley with his spell fire. Tom's shield absorbed most of them, and as more and more of Tom's followers Apparated in, the battle between him and Potter splintered off into hundreds of smaller duels throughout the Alley.

Potter ducked behind another Red-Cloak and disappeared into the crowd. Tom growled his frustration and took a moment to glance around. Theo and Draco were both battling a small group of Red-Cloaks and Tom could see other followers of his engaged in their own battles. Shopkeepers were shuttering shops left and right and the goblins had lowered the gate over the main doors of Gringotts. Tom gritted his teeth. He hoped there wouldn't be too many casualties today. The last thing the wizarding world needed was another war.

A slicing hex hit the back of his thigh and Tom grunted, flicking his fingers to heal it before heading back into the battle that raged around him. Tom's last hope before the chaos truly descended and all he could do was work to stay alive, was that Hermione stayed at the Ministry. Safe.

* * *

_June 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

Hermione didn't notice when Pansy left. She'd had her head buried in an old law book from the early 1800s for most of the day. It was almost three in the afternoon when she finally looked up. There was a scuffle outside her office. She stretched and stood from behind her desk. Crossing her office to open the door, she heard the distinct pops of Apparition. The only people who could Apparate out of the Ministry were Aurors. Hermione whipped open her door to find Millie at her desk, clearly fretting, and chaos in the Auror bullpen down the hallway from her office.

"Millie, what's going on?" Hermione asked.

"You are supposed to stay here," Millie whispered.

"Tell me," Hermione demanded.

"There's been a fight in Diagon Alley—"

"Is it still ongoing?" Hermione asked although she knew the answer to that question. Aurors wouldn't be Apparating out of the Ministry if the fight were over.

"Yes," Millie said.

"Fucking, Tom. Let's go," Hermione turned and ran down the hall for the stairs. Fuck the lifts at a time like this, she needed to get out of the Ministry and to Diagon Alley. She knew for certain that Tom would do his best to keep her out of the fighting as some sort of misplaced protection thing, but Hermione was fully capable of taking care of herself.

When she and Millie reached the Atrium, Hermione grabbed her hand. "We'll be going in there blind, I'll Side-Apparate you, so we stay together. In the alley off of Gringotts. Hopefully, the fighting won't be too bad there."

Millie nodded, she looked scared and Hermione squeezed her hand in support before turning to her left and spinning away in Apparition.

When they landed, the air was smoky with spellfire and Hermione and Millie both coughed as they attempted to figure out their surroundings. Diagon Alley wasn't quite a ruin, but it was a near thing. Walls were collapsed all over the place and rubble littered the streets.

Rogue Order members in their wine-red robes were everywhere, with their hoods up. Hermione thought they looked like Death Eaters. The Aurors were surprisingly fighting against the Rogue Order and that had Hermione breathing a small sigh of relief. Her heart swelled with love for Tom,  _he_  was the reason the Aurors were fighting against the Rogue Order instead of with them. She searched the crowd, looking for Tom.

Someone in a maroon robe dashed across the alley and Hermione caught sight of Tom at the same time. Tom stood on top of a small pile of rubble, protecting as many people as he could. Meanwhile, the hood fell down on the Rogue Order member and Hermione instantly recognized Harry's black hair.

"No, Tom!" she shouted, knowing that there was no way he could hear her over the noise of the hundreds of battles raging in the small space.

She took off running toward where Tom and Harry were about to collide.

"Hermione!" Millie screamed from behind her, but Hermione ignored her. She didn't think of anything else except saving Tom. She couldn't think of anything else. She dodged bolts of magic and slid around duels and over rubble in her desperate race to get there in time.

Suddenly, she was yanked backward just as a bright blue curse flew by her face. Millie had a hold of her arm above the elbow. "Fucking hell," Hermione panted.

"That was close," Millie agreed.

"Come on, Harry's going for Tom, we have to hurry!" Hermione pointed to the rubble pile where Tom was still dueling. She could just make out Harry through the crowd as he made his way toward Tom from behind.

Hermione took off again, pushing past everyone she could. She shoved someone from the Rogue Order so hard, they fell to their knees. She didn't see, but Millie hexed them so that they would stay down. Diagon Alley was almost unrecognizable at this point, although she did spot the shattered arm from Weasleys Wizard Wheezes as it hung limply from the elbow. If she recalled, Tom was standing just in front of Flourish and Blotts, but smoke from spellfire and dust from the collapsed buildings obscured most of the signage.

All she knew was that she had to get to Tom. She couldn't lose him. Not again. Not only because it would mean her own death, but because they still had so much work to do. She finally felt like they were accomplishing items on their agenda. Items that would make their world a better place. She wasn't about to give that up now, even if it meant spending eternity with Tom. She couldn't give that up. Shoving past one last Rogue Order member Hermione finally was at the base of the rubble pile.

"TOM!" she screamed as Harry tossed back the hood of his cloak and pointed his wand at Tom's back.

" _ **AVADA KEDAVRA!**_ " Harry shrieked.

" _ **NO! TOM!**_ " Hermione raced forward, trying to get there in time, she just needed to get Tom out of the way of that bright green jet of light that was heading right for him.

Hermione arrived in time to see Theo Nott fall down at Tom's feet. His eyes were glassy and empty.

"No! Theo!" Tom shouted. He dropped to his knees, cradling his friend's head. "Theo."

Hermione's eyes widened at the sight before her. Harry was panting, his wand pointed at the place where Tom had been standing, his eyes round and horrified. Suddenly, his wand arm dropped to his side and his wand slid out of his fingers to become lost to the debris at his feet.

"I didn't mean to…" Harry said.

"You never do," Hermione spat at him. "Tom!"

Tom looked up at her, his eyes full of unshed tears. "Tom, the battle still rages."

Tom breathed out heavily and reached into his pocket for something. Hermione only realized it was a Portkey when Theo's body disappeared.

Harry stood with a blank look on his face, seeming to not comprehend that he'd murdered the wrong man when an Auror tackled him to the ground. He didn't even fight, he just went limp as the Auror hauled him upright, and put a pair of handcuffs on his hands.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly as the Auror hauled him away. It wasn't long before the Aurors had control of the scene and the healers from St Mungo's showed up to begin treating injuries. Hermione and Tom helped where they could, especially among those who were Tom's followers. Hermione might dislike the terminology and the meaning behind it all, but she couldn't deny that without them she and Tom both might be dead.

* * *

_June 2003_

_Granger Court_

_Oxfordshire, England_

* * *

It was surreal to go home that evening. The Aurors had kept them at the Ministry for hours taking their statement and sorting through what was true and what wasn't. Shacklebolt had resigned the moment someone had spotted him trying to stuff his Rogue Order robe into a rubbish bin.

"Are you hungry?" Hermione asked when she and Tom finally arrived back home that evening. The new house didn't feel like home yet, it was still too new, but they'd moved out of Hermione's old apartment and it was all they had.

Tom shook his head and wandered into the library. Hermione followed him and watched with sad eyes as he settled onto one of the sofas. She pointed her wand at the fireplace and lit a fire. It was June, but Hermione's soul hurt and fire always seemed to help. She sat next to Tom and took his hand in hers. She wanted to ask him a million questions, but she didn't. That's not what Tom needed right now.

Soon enough, she'd coaxed him to lie down, his head pillowed on her lap. When the first tears came, she didn't say anything and when he turned to bury his face into her stomach and sob, Hermione just combed her fingers through his hair. She offered him as much comfort as she could. She hoped it was enough. She knew what it was to lose a true friend. She knew the pain of losing one of your first friends. And she knew how much it hurt when a stalwart friend gave up his life for yours. Most of all, Hermione sat there, comforting Tom, and thanking every deity above that he had enough soul to be upset about Theo.


	18. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Many thanks to RachaelLA26 for her beta work on this fic! She was with me through it all for months and I couldn't have done it without her.**
> 
> **Many thanks to guest reviewer Nicole for catching a rather large plot hole! I've fixed it in this updated chapter.**
> 
> **For everyone who has read up to this point, thank you for taking the time to read my humble offering. If you've reviewed, followed, favorited, given kudos, thank you as well. Fanfiction is nothing without the fans. So thank you for being fans. I hope you've enjoyed the journey!**
> 
> **If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff or Facebook at Shan Crochetaway.**

  

* * *

_July 2003_

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St Catchpole, Devonshire, England_

* * *

Hermione sighed as she gazed at the graves in front of her. It was a rather larger cemetery than she had been expecting, but the Weasley family was one of the most ancient in the wizarding world and had lived on this land for a long time. The day was bordering on too hot, and the sun blazed down, making Hermione sweat in her work robes. She'd taken the afternoon off to do this. It had been long enough. It was time to begin healing from the past.

What a waste. Waste of life, waste of a child, waste of a witch. And as much as she wanted to blame Harry for all of it, she knew that she bore some of the blame as well. Her heart hurt at the thought, a pit in her chest that was lessening every day but Hermione was sure she would live with for the rest of her life. She could have done some things differently and maybe they wouldn't be here. Maybe even  _should_  have done some things differently, but she'd made her choices, the best ones that had been available to her at the time. Maybe even having made different choices they  _still_  would have ended up here. She wasn't one for attempting to predict the future after all. Hermione clenched her jaw, steeling herself as she looked at the newest headstone in the plot.

_Ginevra Molly Weasley Potter_

_Baby Potter_

_Daughter, Sister, Wife, Mother_

_11 August 1981 - 3 June 2003_

Fuck, seeing it writing like that made something twist inside her that hadn't when she'd attended the funeral a month ago. Tears welled up behind the sunglasses she wore and her throat closed. She and Ginny hadn't always been close, but they'd grown up together. They'd shared a lot of memories. Memories that were forever going to be tainted by the way she died.

Twisting her wand in a small arc, Hermione conjured a wreath to lay on Ginny's grave. Ginny and the baby she had been carrying. There were only two casualties of the battle in Diagon Alley a month ago and Ginny was one of them. Heartbreaking. At least, Hermione's heart was broken over the loss of Ginny. She wasn't sure Tom was as broken up about it as she was, but he had his own trauma to deal with. She knew he was struggling after losing Theo. If only Harry could see him now, perhaps he wouldn't be so quick to assume that Tom was Voldemort come back to life. He wasn't the psychopath she had feared a year ago. Nor was he the sociopath she had hoped for at the time if only to stave off the idea of psychopathy. No, Tom was fully human. He had feelings; feelings that could be hurt, deeply. He was also coldly logical, something Hermione had always appreciated about him. She just wished that Harry could have seen it as well.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered to Ginny. She didn't know what else to say. Ginny shouldn't have died, the baby she was carrying definitely shouldn't have died. And yet, Hermione blamed herself.

She moved a few feet to the left and placed another wreath at both Ron and Fred's gravestones. At least, Ginny had Fred and Ron to greet her in the afterlife. She could only hope that there was some comfort in that.

Hermione gazed at the ramshackle building that was the Burrow for a long moment. It was up a hill and almost not visible from her vantage. The Burrow used to bring comfort to Hermione. Just seeing it reminded her of her favorite wizarding family. Now it only brought sadness. Hermione closed her eyes and turned to the left Apparating out of Devonshire and into Bedfordshire.

The graveyard at Nott Park was quite a bit more gothic than the one at the Burrow. And unlike the Burrow, this one had only one grave that was newer than the last thirty years. Hermione's heart clenched as she spotted Theo's name.

_Theodore Thoros Nott_

_Son, Friend, Compatriot_

_21 April 1980 - 3 June 2003_

It hurt the same now as it had watching him fall at Tom's feet. She hadn't known Theo like she'd known Ginny, but Tom had. Theo had been the first person, after Hermione, to accept him back. She didn't pretend to know all of the ins and outs of their relationship, but she knew by his actions that Theo had loved Tom. Why else would he have sacrificed himself?

Tom had been inconsolable for almost two days after Theo's death. They'd had to push the funeral back until Tom felt he was able to attend without having a breakdown in front of the rest of his followers. Although, Hermione thought that his followers seeing him being a human could only be a good thing. Tom preferred to remain stoic when possible. The only people who had seen his weakness, as he termed it, were Hermione, Draco, Millie, and Pansy. Their group seemed less bright than it had been when Theo was alive. Hermione wondered if that wound would ever heal or if it would always feel as though they were missing someone. A malingering that Hermione both wished would never leave and hoped would heal as soon as possible.

She wiped a stray tear from her cheek as she conjured yet another wreath, placing it at Theo's headstone.

"Oh, Theo. He needs you," Hermione said. "He needed you more than I think he ever realized. More than he ever needed me."

Theo didn't answer of course. Hermione sighed. She had one more visit to make today. One she was dreading but knew she needed to make.

She stepped forward and pressed her trembling fingers against the cold marble that made up Theo's gravestone before stepping out of the graveyard and once more Apparating away.

When she landed, it was on the rocky shore on the North Sea. The boatman was waiting for her and indicated she should get in. She did and was instantly nauseous at the way the small boat rocked on the violent sea. Even in summer, this sea always seemed turbulent and grey.

Thankfully, the boatman used a bit of magic to get them across to the island quickly. Azkaban was foreboding and Hermione hated that she had to go here at all, but it was necessary. For her, and for him.

"Mrs Granger, welcome," the warden greeted her at the small dock. He helped her out of the boat and led her to the small door in the side of the sheer rock that was the prison.

"We've brought him down to one of the visiting rooms," the warden told her. "They are marginally warmer than the cells."

"Thank you," Hermione replied. She hoped she wouldn't be there long enough to get cold.

It had been a month since she'd seen him and he had a full beard, not being allowed access to a razor. He looked different than she'd ever seen him, scruffy she'd seen, but this was despondency. As much as she and Tom had lost, Harry had lost far more. He hadn't even put up a defense, just pleaded guilty to everything. Losing Ginny seemed to have broken him. It hurt Hermione to see him like this. They may have been enemies most recently, but they'd been friends for far longer.

The warden clanged the door shut behind her and Hermione approached the metal table Harry was chained to. She sat opposite him, but he wouldn't look at her.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said. And truly she was, she hated seeing her oldest friend like this. Chained to a table. Hermione's mind flashed back to the way Sirius had looked after he had escaped Azkaban and she never wanted Harry to go through that. Perhaps Azkaban ought to next be on her list of justices to improve upon.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, his voice was hoarse and low. "I don't want to see you." He refused to look at her, keeping his gaze at the dull table between them.

"I'm still sorry." Hermione tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. She had shed her tears for the day. She didn't want to shed more now, for Harry, although she knew she would once she left. She didn't want Harry seeing her weak. They were enemies after all.

"It's not your fault, is it?" Harry asked, finally pinning her with his brilliant green eyes. They were dull and shiny with unshed tears. Her breath caught in her throat at the twisted anguish on his face. "It's my fault I'm here. It's my fault my wife and child are dead." His voice was cold, dead sounding. It made Hermione shiver.

"Not entirely," Hermione insisted. "Some of that fault lies with me. I could have made different choices,  _better_  choices." That time the tremor showed itself and she took a great gulping breath to try and calm her nerves.

Harry shook his head. "No, no, no!" He banged the table with his hands, punctuating what he was saying and it caused Hermione to jump in her chair. "It's  _my_  fault!  _I_  killed Nott!  _I_  killed Ginny!  _I_  led the Order, I shouldn't have… I should have just left it alone." His voice cracked and tears fell down his cheeks, but he didn't crumble in on himself.

"You should have left it alone," Hermione agreed, her voice stronger now. That at least she could agree to.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked again. Another tear slid down his cheek and Hermione longed to reach out and brush it aside, but she knew she couldn't. Not without the warden and every other guard in here bursting through the door.

"I have a proposition," Hermione said as gently as possible. She knew he wasn't going to agree to it now, but she hoped. It was the only thing that had gotten her through the last month, actually, her hope. Hope for the future of the wizarding world. Hope for Tom. Hope for Harry.

"I'm not interested." Harry's voice was flat, but his glare was sharp. She wasn't surprised. She didn't think he'd fold after a month. That was alright. She didn't really want him to fold after a month. The long game was what was important here.

"I'll be back then," Hermione said decisively. She would be too. She'd come back every other month or so until Harry was ready to listen to her proposition. She wouldn't let him wallow in his despair. As much as Harry had screwed up, he was still an important figure in the wizarding world. He had defeated Voldemort after all. It would be better for everyone if Harry could be redeemed and walking free once more. Hermione vowed to make that happen. Even if she had to begin coming here every week to browbeat him into acceptance she would.

Hermione stood and looked down at Harry one final time. "I am sorry," she said. "Ginny will be sorely missed by everyone who knew her."

She turned and walked out of the meeting room. His sob as the door shut almost broke her heart, but she didn't show it. She couldn't show it. A small part of her wanted to turn back around and wrap her arms around him to comfort him as she would have done when they were children. But they weren't children anymore. They were adults where their decisions and choices had real consequences. Consequences Harry was going to have to live with. Consequences she was going to have to live with.

* * *

_August 2003_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

"Final voting for Chief Warlock has been completed," the Chief Warlock announced. His voice was smug, but Tom wasn't worried. He'd worked every faction in the Wizengamot. Tom was confident. It had taken him two long months to reach this point. "We'll be counting the votes and announcing them accordingly."

Tom sighed and leaned back in his chair as the Chief Warlock and his aides counted votes. His eyes caught Theo's empty chair across the chamber and he frowned. Theo didn't have an heir and the closest relative to the Nott family was Draco. They'd have to election off his seat. Tom began mentally flipping through his followers to see who had the best chances to win that sort of popular election.

"Alright, Tom?" Draco asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Of course," Tom nodded sharply. Draco may have seen him at his weakest, mourning Theo's death, but Draco was not Theo. Tom wasn't sure there would ever be someone who could step into Theo's shoes in his life. That thought made him unaccountably sad. He clenched his jaw as his throat worked to close. Even two months after Theo's death, he was still affected. This had never happened to him before and he wasn't entirely sure he understood it.

"Attention," the Chief Warlock announced. His lips were pursed as if he were sucking on a lemon and Tom didn't even have to listen to the rest to know the result of the vote. "Attention, the votes have been counted. Please welcome your new Chief Warlock Tom Granger!"

The Chief Warlock and the new Interim Minister both looked displeased, but the rest of the Wizengamot stood offering Tom a thundering applause. He too, stood, accepting their praise with a small smirk and a wave. The Wizengamot was now almost entirely made up of people in Tom and Hermione's generation. There was still an older faction, but Tom wasn't worried about them. They didn't have a quorum and had no way of gaining quorum while Tom was in charge. Let them die in their seats. He didn't want people assuming it was a complete coup. This lent some plausibility to his plans. He wondered how long he should serve as Chief Warlock before making a bid for Minister? Did the Interim Minister realize Tom was gunning for his seat? He hoped so.

The Interim Minister made a great show of congratulating Tom and wishing him well in his new role, but his handshake was too tight, too hard for Tom to know he truly accepted him. That was alright. The Interim Minister wouldn't be around forever. Tom accepted the congratulations with thanks. Then proceeded to suggest to the Interim Minister that someone had to fill the Head Auror position. Especially, since it was unlikely Potter would be getting out of Azkaban anytime soon. He had hemmed and hawed, but it hadn't taken him long to appoint Dawlish as the Head Auror.

Tom thought it was hilarious that the Interim Minister had assumed Dawlish was  _his_  choice and not Tom's. Dawlish had been attending Tom's meetings since the third or fourth one. He was a long time associate of Tom's. And exactly who Tom wanted leading the Aurors. It was time for Tom to begin leading the world he was born to lead.

Not long after Tom was elected Chief Warlock, Hermione received her first promotion in the DMLE. She rose through the ranks rather quickly—quicker than Tom had hoped for if he was honest with himself—and a year after her placement in that department she was the deputy head. Two years after that and she was head of the DMLE, which is exactly where Tom wanted her. He'd been waiting for that promotion to go through before he made his bid for Minister for Magic. He couldn't be seen promoting his own wife, after all, could he?

Almost four years to the day after the disaster that was the Battle of Diagon Alley and Tom was elected Minister for Magic. Hermione was by his side as he gave his inaugural speech. She stood proudly as he told all of the wizarding world his plans for enhancing their society. Hermione had slowly been enacting his plans through the DMLE and now, finally, as Minister, he would be able to do everything he'd always wanted. Draco had succeeded him as Chief Warlock and Tom's power was secured. Now, he had everything at his fingertips and Tom had never been more satisfied or happier with his life.

With Hermione by his side, he was ready to rule the world


End file.
